


Draco Malfoy's Plan

by Saraste



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Modification, Community: mpregbigbang, Genderplay, M/M, Male Slash, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Romance, Sirius Lives!, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 14:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy wants to produce an heir. He only has one tiny problem, the fact that he's gay. So he forms his PLAN, which involves changing his very being with magic so he can bear his own heir. And who'd be a better candidate to father his child than one Harry Potter, saviour of the WIzarding World and Draco's on/off lover.</p>
<p>There is only one flaw in Draco's PLAN. It might end in tragedy. And he might learn to care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draco Malfoy's Plan

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my best work. I will most likely revise this at some point, or write some of the parts I'd wished had been in this as in-between ficlets. 
> 
> Also, while I've been writing mpreg quite a lot in all the years I've been fanficcing, this was my very first longer HP mpreg. My Draco is terribly OOC, for which I apologize. Seems I had all theses ideas for this fic and then it all fell flat on it's face, metaphorically speaking.
> 
> This was written for round 1 of the mpregbigbang over at LJ.

Draco Malfoy had a plan. 

He was going to become a father. Well, mother, if one was nit-picky about the subject. The coldness of his childhood, even when he'd realized how much his parents had actually always cared for him, had left him with a craving. He ached to see Malfoy Manor filled with children. After the War, he had made tentative approaches to the side-branches of the Malfoy family, to offer them a place to live, and had been mostly rebuked. Even when he had never been a Death Eater and had only tried to do Voldemorts bidding under duress, there was little lost between him and his more distant relations. So the option of filling up Malfoy Manor with the children of relatives, and of course the elder relatives themselves, was mostly out. 

So he had developed his PLAN. 

It was a well-thought-out plan. Very well thought out, if anyone were to ask. Not that anyone would, as Draco's circle of intimates was not that large, and he was not going to blabber all about his plan to his lovers, either. He had also decided to leave his parents out of the know until he had results. No use in making them, especially Narcissa, worry unduly. Draco had to smile at the thought of his mother knowing that she would hold a grandchild in her arms. She'd be thrilled, even when Draco knew that she might not feel so great about being reminded of her age, of how her only son was grown enough to have a child of his own. But Draco was convinced that once his mother had his baby, Draco's child, in her arms she would be well and truly placated. Her heart would melt and she would become like an angry dragon mother protecting her young. And Lucius would be only too happy for an heir to carry on the Malfoy family name. Draco was the last heir and if there would be no children, the main branch of Malfoy's would die out. He might also be happy for Draco's baby as a proud grand-father, Draco hoped. 

That Draco was the last in their line, the last of the Malfoy's, was also one of the reasons for which Draco had even concocted his plan in the first place. He would have hated the long line of Malfoy's to end with himself. And if he had not come up with his PLAN, it would have come to a close with him, more likely than not. 

Because Draco was gay. 

If he had not been, then there would not have been any need of a special plan to produce the next little Malfoy. Draco would have just married some obedient little witch who would have popped out Malfoy babies until Draco would have been satisfied with the result. Draco had tried to be with a woman, tried every potion in the book but nothing worked. He had tried imagining away the soft curves, the high pitched breathy gasps, the softly murmured syllables of his name. With all that, his body failed him. There was no way he was going to get a witch pregnant with his seed if he couldn't get it up to lie with a woman. Not when he couldn't even bed a woman properly. His body just would not listen to his mind which was saying that he needed to carry on the family name. It was preposterous how he couldn't do it. It would have been easier if he could have just knocked up a witch.

It was not a question of Draco having any issue with being a gay wizard. Not at all. He was all for the male figure. And he had no trouble performing with other men, having bedded both wizards and muggles alike. When it came to sex, he was not particularly picky, collecting sexual conquests like trophies. Nor was he too fussy about positions. Even when on bottom, he controlled whomever he was having sex with. Draco relished it all. But he was intent on one thing when choosing a partner. Good looks. The Muggles he didn't mind that much, he picked them up from Muggle gay bars and nightclubs, seducing them over dancing and drinks, ending up for a quick or long shag in back-rooms or nice hotel suites, never his home, because that would have been courting disaster. They were a relief, in a way, not knowing who he was. Many a wizard was ready to get under his robes, even knowing what he had and was supposed to have done done during the War. During a War which was over years past now, a War where he had somehow redeemed himself by helping the Saviour of the Wizarding World, with not being able to fulfil the task set to him by Voldemort, not able to kill Dumbledore. While Snape's name had been cleared and he had been revered as a fallen hero after the War, Draco's name had just that bit of a stain in it. Even when he had helped the side of the Light near the end. 

Appearances and hotness aside, Draco knew, that with his PLAN, he was going for good blood too. So no half-blood for him, he wanted his child's blood to be as magical as it could, even when he knew that magic could, would and had hopped over generations, not always manifesting in the blood of children of wizards. Also, he wanted a proper conquest. The jewel to his collection, the father of his child-to-be. It had to be someone special in the wizarding world, even when part of Draco reasoned that picking someone less prominent might make things easier. But Draco was never one for easy, well, except for a quick snog and lay to satisfy his needs. In all, he had had his eyes on one particular wizard for a very long time. Since their days together at Hogwarts. Had sought him out, in a way, in his conquests.

Harry Potter. 

Draco knew that it was utter madness even contemplating the possibility that Potter would agree to put a bun in his oven. So to speak. Oh, Draco knew that Potter, Harry, would shag him readily enough, mostly because the last of the Malfoy's had let the Boy Who Lived see him stark naked and they had sexed each other up with much enthusiasm in times past, before, during and after the War. Several times. As the sex was so good, and since Draco did want to have Harry as the father of his children, there was no question over who would father the children Draco would give birth to. 

Any quilt over the fact that he might need to deceive Harry to get what he wanted did not enter Draco's mind. He had reasoned that because he knew Harry harboured a dream of a big family.

So he had plunged headlong into research over the several different ways that he could produce a new last Malfoy. He knew, early on, that he would probably need to go through it more than once because he wanted his child to have siblings, yet he brushed over the sections telling him that a magic-induced pregnancy was trickier than the more common kind. No lone childhood devoid of siblings for his heir. No, there would be a big brood of little Malfoy's. Draco was resigned on it. Even though when there was a part of him which did believe quite adamantly that he would become a single parent. He had seen Potter fuck his way through most of their generations gay wizards, even dabbling with some witches but, after a time, settling with wizards. As Potter had slept around with witches too, Draco couldn't help but wonder if it was by choice. And if so, did that choice include a decision to not to have a family. Even when even Draco had heard some snippets of story of Harry's want for a family they hadn't exactly discussed the subject at length amidst the snogging, the grinding, hands everywhere and the oh-so-good burn and friction, sweaty limbs entangled in the best shags of Draco's still rather young life. There hadn't been much pillow-talk between the two of them. 

So having Harry knock him up was not quite something that Draco felt like he could easily bring into a talk with Harry. 

So the PLAN was born. 

Out of necessity if nothing else. Because Draco had come to a point in his life where he needed more than a nine to four job at the ministry where he was still the object of aborted conversations and hushed whispers behind his back. He was of an age to start a family. And maybe, because Harry was that kind of person, he might decide to stay with Draco when he found out there was a child involved. Or then not. A part of Draco was entirely sure that Harry would stay. Only because the Hero had a complex of sorting out his mistakes and doing the right thing a mile wide. It wouldn't be ideal, but at least if Harry stayed... Draco would not be alone. It was a bad feeling, thinking that he'd raise up his, their, children alone, just because he hadn't found a person who was willing to share the responsibility, because he had no-one who would have agreed to spend their life with him. 

And, although he might not admit it, Draco was tickled by the idea of stealing a baby from Harry. Putting the impregnating bit of his PLAN into action was also not something that he frowned upon, it was a delight to go through. And even the thought of it certainly made the indecently emasculating changes his body went through to be able to bear a child somewhat easier to bear. The excitement of knowing what would come out of their sweaty tumbles made it somehow even better than it already was. Any stray and non-Malfoy-like stab of conscience was squashed. Draco had to have what he wanted and he was not going to let something like a conscience get in his way.

Draco realized that his Plan might have a flaw or two, several rather glaring ones at that, if one was being entirely honest. But who had ever said a Malfoy was always completely truthful to even themselves, deception being such an integral part who they were. Draco was entirely confident that any flaws that there might be were something that he could very easily circumvent. For he was, after all, Draco Malfoy, and the Malfoy's always got what they wanted. 

And if what Draco wanted was Harry-bleeding-Potter's baby, so be it. There was no-one who could make him choose otherwise. It would be the conquest to top all conquests. His and Harry's baby would be the most gifted witch or wizard in centuries. 

It would be theirs.

* * *

The getting shagged by Harry Potter bit of Draco's PLAN was almost all too easy.

Draco had gone into the club he usually frequented, one which he knew that Potter did too. He had decked himself up with feminine regalia, Muggle things, which he'd taken quite a liking to, no matter that they were Muggle made, or that they were... meant for women, originally, even if he knew that the one's he wore had been manufactured to fit male measurements. Draco had thought about it and realized, sometime during his last two years at Hogwarts, that he had a feminine side, which he loved to indulge. It wasn't that he wanted to be or become a woman, it was simply that he had broken free of the mindset that you had to always and forever act a certain way to be man enough, wizard enough, not that their world was as oppressive on personal sexuality, Pure Blood Mania aside, than at the Muggle world was. Also, dressing up was so much fun! The looks he got when he was all prettied up were exhilarating to say the least. He also rather liked the feel of the corset hugging his torso, the way the lace stockings accentuated his calves. The heels were also a must, complete with a spell to numb any aches that came with tottering around with them.

Maybe the fact that he was so connected with his feminine side had made accepting the fact that if he could not get a witch to bear his children then he would just bear them himself easier.

So, with a black lace and satin corset hugging his torso, an almost obscenely short miniskirt hugging his hips. The miniskirt was barely covering his cock, which stuffed in black lace knickers , which, to tell the absolute and complete truth, was not that comfortable a feeling. His legs were encased in knee-high flower patterned mesh stockings in a delectable shade of Slytherin green and a pair of black high heel pumps to match the ensemble. His face was carefully made-up, more androgyny than complete and utter femme, not a hair out of place and his trade-mark smirk plastered on his lips. Having reached his destination after a brief trip through the Floo Network, Draco entered the club of his choice. 

It was called the Drunken Djinn and was situated at a cul-de-sac off of Diagon Alley, being still a part of Wizard London. 

He cornered Harry easily enough. They danced the night away, all but fucking each other right there on the dance-floor, their bodies swaying and gyrating together sinfully. Draco was hard all through their dancing, revelling in the way Harry looked at him. The Boy Who Lived wore an expression of barely contained shock and lust when feeling Draco's arousal, even after all this time. 

They had been unable to bear it no more and had ended up fumbling their way into the bathroom where hands had stroked, caressed and taken firm hold, their lust slated for the moment it took to get them both off. But the night was young and as they kissed feverishly, Harry pushing Draco against the sinks, the Slythering knew that there would be more.

After that, Draco had taken Harry back to Malfoy Manor, them having caught a Floo transit point at the Leaky Cauldron, which seemed never to close it's doors. The landlord, Tom, had winked at them as they'd sauntered past to use the grate. Harry's hand has been possessively over Draco's behind. 

They had gone through into the Floo kissing and groping, and continued their actions once they were at their destination in Draco's sumptuous stately home. Stumbling over into Draco's bedroom, they had left clothes scattered over the floor in their wake. 

* * *

Draco fell down onto his mattress, over Slythering Green silk sheets, while Harry looked down at him with ravenous intent. Then the Gryffindor proceeded to ravage him. He started with the Draco's cock, which was jutting up from a nest of pale pale blonde curls between Draco's wantonly spread legs. He licked a long stripe from the balls up, holding onto the base.

“Mmhhh...Draco murmured, a wicked smile playing on his lips. His PLAN was being put into action. And it felt delightful. Decadent. He surrendered willingly to Harry's advances, for he would get a turn to indulge his dominance, fill Harry, push him over the edge. But first, he needed a thorough ravaging, he needed for Harry to come inside of him. This was what the potions and the incantations and spells had been about, this was what the horror of his body changing, the convulsions which had left him nigh senseless had been for. A body to bear a child, changed irrevocably now, and just because Draco had decide that he needed to go all the way. But a body with it's original essence blurred needed a contribution. A smile played on Draco's rouged lips as he thought about what Harry was doing as fertilizing him. The thought, the word was hilarious. 

Harry kissed the tip almost reverently, making Draco sink deeper into passion. He was throbbing, aching to be touched and Harry was doing just that. Harry swallowed his length deep into his mouth and throat, humming around it, making Draco lose it more and more. He was head bobs away from incoherency. Only the firm grasp around his base prevented him from coming, shooting his essence down Harry's waiting throat. The head upon his heated flesh moved up and down in a steady rhythm and Draco's moans and the slurping sound of Harry's lips on his flesh filled the room.

Harry ran his tongue along Draco's length as he gave it all of his attention. He was going to turn Draco into a quivering mass of raw need, have him babbling, begging for a release, begging to be fucked. Oh, how Harry did want to fuck him. He was aching to plunge balls-deep into Draco's lily white behind, claiming his derri?e as his own, feeling the nice fit of his lover around his own flesh. Flesh which was throbbing for attention with every bob up and down of his head, every swirl over Draco's engorged, heated flesh. Pale thighs quivered on either side of his head, spurring him on. Making him take Draco higher and higher.

His other hand dipped low, caressing one of Draco's thighs before coming down below his cock, dancing around the sensitive flesh under the blonde's balls, making said blonde jerk a little, his cock hitting the roof of Harry's mouth and making him gag just a little. But only a little. His dry finger grazed over the small ring of muscle found between the swells of Draco's delectable bottom. 

Draco hummed as he felt the finger moving over the crack of his behind, just brushing over the sphincter of muscles. He knew Harry would not dare dip it in, dry as it was. But the anticipation, it was heady. No other word for it. His hands groped blindly for the purse that had somehow ended on the bed with him. He fished out a tube of lube out of it with rather uncoordinated fingers, due to the fact that Harry's mouth on him was absolutely wickedly sinful. He threw the lube somewhere in the vicinity of where Harry's head was, hoping he wouldn't hit him right smack in the head with it.

The lube was quickly applied, Harry abandoning his task of blowing Draco, but the blonde comforted his irate cock that it would be getting to finish as soon as Harry fucked them senseless. He gasped as first one finger breached him, soon to be joined by a second and then a third, seemed like in no time at all. Harry pumped them in and out of him, stretching him, making him moan. Slicked and stretched, he was soon ready for something bigger and hotter. And Harry delivered, his cock-head nudging at his opening, other hand holding Draco's left leg over his shoulder, the bottom of his knee resting on Harry's thin shoulder. It was a bit uncomfortable, but Draco stopped caring the minute Harry plunged inside of him swiftly. 

It was all well that he was so deep into not caring, swimming in a haze of lust for, had he stopped for just a moment to think, to really think what he was doing with Harry, of the possibility of the outcome he was aiming for... Draco would have been petrified.

Instead, he was full and loved it. 

Harry began slow at first, long languid strokes with barely nudged Draco's prostate. With the way Draco egged him on, though, he was soon plunging deep inside of him, one thrust after another, hands arranging and moving Draco's body so he did brush over his sweet spot. Over and over and over again. He made Draco whimper, moan and scream. Reduced him to a creature of need. Draco was on the edge in no time at all. He came with a ragged shout, convulsing around Harry, gripping him like a vice of flesh and muscle. Harry, too, couldn't hold on, but buried himself deep inside Draco one last time and filled him with a gush of his seed, shouting out Draco's name, the syllables of it strangled and mauled almost beyond regognotion. As Harry slumped over him, drawing Draco with to lay on their sides, the former Slytherin did wish that his seed had not taken hold. Making babies was too fun to pass on. They had all the night ahead of them to try and try again. 

They fell into slumber, exhausted and spent, a little sore. 

Later, they woke, a little more sore and sticky. It took some moments to detach from one another. When they had, the pair of them snuggled and kissed and then decided to go wash off. Stumbling into Draco's bathroom, walking through the empty corridors, naked and embracing, shocking past Malfoy generations which hung on the walls immortalized in portraits. They got into the bath, washed each other, hands dipping here and there, caressing, teasing. 

Draco let himself forget why he was doing it, why he was with Harry. And it did not matter that he wanted to have Harry's baby inside of him... he plain just wanted Harry. But he was not falling in love, wasn't already in love. Nothing like it. He just liked the way in which Harry... oh, like that.

Harry was fingering himself as Draco watched on, pumping his fingers in and out of his hole, leaning forward on Draco, his bum barely under the surface of the sudsy water filling the large tub. His green eyes bore deep into Draco's cool grey ones, his pants boring deep down into Draco, making him fall. Draco watched on, hard and aching, holding onto himself, keeping his orgasm at bay. Harry soon declared himself ready and settled over Draco's lap, filling himself with Draco's length, impaling himself. 

Being in Harry was wonderful.

They made languid love, this time, moving in tiny jerks and shudders, barely moving at all. No water sloshed over the rim of the sumptuous clawed bath-tub as they made slow sweet love. It was almost too affectionate, Draco had the fleeting thought that he was somehow attempting the conception of their child into some sort of romance, but it was buried under the slowly building oblivion of pleasure. Also, it was not like they had not indulged in this kind of slow shagging in the past, even with the heated nigh-brutality of their first encounters, their aggressive fucking a result of years of resenting each other, even if that resentment had always been laced with lust, if not affection. 

Draco had his arms wrapped around Harry, his tongue deep down his lover's throat as he made sweet soft love to him. Harry gasped into his mouth, flexing his devious derriere, trying to make him come. But still, given everything, they did make it slower than slow, coming almost by surprise, intense.

Caught up in each other, with no going back to how things had been.

* * *

Draco did not get pregnant. 

He had waited all of one day before casting the spell which would tell him if he was pregnant. There was no positive response. So he tried again on the following day, and the day after and repeated it daily until it had been two weeks since he and Harry had last had sex. Well, sex where Harry came inside of him. There were the usual gropes in empty bathrooms and offices at the Ministry, as there was no avoiding Harry there. Not that Draco was dating Harry, had anyone asked.

As he was not pregant Draco thus launched a campaign, his PLAN, of throwing himself at Harry every single chance he got, bugging Harry until the Boy Who Lived filled him with his come. He accosted Harry at the Ministry, fucking him in the bathrooms, in broom-closets, under either of their desks. He fucked Harry in the rest rooms of the Leaky Cauldron, every single bathroom of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, even some of the more far away rooms there, shocking Remus on one occasion, making Sirius irate on every single one. He fucked Harry through most of the rooms at the Manor, too. In all, he made sure that Harry came inside of him at least seven times a week. 

His lover, for all it was worth, did not seem to mind in the slightest. There was a glint which now appeared into Harry's eyes every single time that he saw Draco. And that glint made Draco almost admit the deep feelings he was developing for the man. He lived in denial of them, telling himself that he did not care. That he did not love. It was all for the next heir of the Malfoy line, that is all. Simply that. All for the PLAN. Even if he had changed his insides just to have Harry's baby, but that was for him, not for them... 

Also, he was not dating Harry, no matter what the rumours circling all over said.

Draco sometimes had the fleeting thought, when he was under Harry, being fucked for all the Gryffindor was worth, filled and filled and finally stuffed to the brim with the other's come, if Harry would have been so eager if he had known his fucking could very well knock Draco up. To divert any undue attention to his offering his bum around for Harry to fill, Draco repaid the favour. He had to admit that it was as much fun to be the one doing all the thrusting, fucking the eager Gryffindor. And kissing him. And whisper dirty sweet nothings to him in between nibbles, lick, caresses and blows. And, finally, to cuddle with him after they had exhausted each other and were thoroughly sated. If they were in a bed at the time, that was. 

But Draco absolutely refused to admit of falling in love. 

Once every week, after a week of exciting sexual romps, he performed the spell to check if he had fallen pregnant yet. He was not disappointed much when week after week the result was negative, not now after those first two weeks. Because it meant more sex with Harry. He dutifully digested the fertility inducing potions and checked that the magic was holding, even when he knew that what he had done had been permanent. He was falling into a nice life of being with Harry almost every day, falling asleep in each other's embrace more and more frequent. He found himself not minding that it was taking it's time, that he did not fall pregnant quick, because being with Harry was nice, even with the side-effects of having to socialize with his cousin and his shabby partner when they stayed at Twelve Grimmauld Place. 

But, then, it was positive. After he had said the spell and pointed his wand at his abdomen, the tiny form, a glowing orb which showed he had conceive had emerged and was now hovering over it. Draco was speechless. Now here was what he had been working for and he was...

Holding his stomach, Draco felt an elation mixed with dread. Dread of his life changing for good. Elation over his having succeeded in his task. He hadn't been sure, had not let himself believe in what he had read, the working of the potion he had painstakingly concocted. Concocted and ingested. All the spells he had cast. The pain he'd gone through. Hands strayed over his midriff, over his flat abdomen, which would lose its shape in the months to come. Draco, despite his PLAN and bravado, his haughty aloof Malfoy nature, could not entirely convince himself that Harry felt any sort of love for him. A tangle of sweaty limbs, theirs, undulated and writhed in the grips of passion but love was not part of the equation. Except, maybe, and he would never admit to it not even under Cruciatus, for Draco. He could fully acknowledge it now, when the object of his PLAN had become reality.

There was a baby now, his and Harry's baby, even when small, it was tangible. 

It had been shocking to realize, mid-thrust, that his feelings for Harry were deeper than he had anticipated or admitted to himself before forming his Plan. This epiphany had messed up Draco's pace, but Potter hadn't been none the wiser. They'd finished and Draco had spent a long time laying awake in the dark while Harry had slept beside him, not knowing a thing about Draco's inner turmoil.

And now, the very next day, right after Draco's little mid-fuck epiphany over his feelings, Draco found out he was pregnant. All his hard work in seducing Harry Potter to get the other to knock him up had worked. Really honestly worked. It was... Draco could not really believe it at first. The hand which held his wand dropped, the wand itself softly thudding onto the lush carpet beneath. He was lucky to have been sitting down already, because he felt weak at the knees and would probably have fallen down. The elation was a heady feeling, consuming. Triumph was not really there, yet anxiety sure was. 

Doubt rushed in on elations heels, but was brushed off, for Draco had convinced himself over and over that this was right, what he ought to do. Ought to do only to appease himself, no-one else.

Draco could do nothing but simply stare at the light hovering above his abdomen, indicating that he was pregnant. His hands were wrapped over the still flat portion of his midriff, where he knew his baby was, somewhere deep within. A small thing. Suddenly, he realized that he might be in more trouble than what he had ever been in, that, all bravado aside, he might have chewed off more than he could swallow. 

“We'll manage, I'm Draco fucking Malfoy, for Merlin's sake!he announced to the empty room angrily. 

He could do it. 

Nothing to it but to manage. He was a MALFOY. He picked up his wand and flicked it, dispelling the pregnancy revealing charm. Then he buried his head in his hands, wondering what the hell he had just done? The vastness of his bedroom seemed to over-crowd him, the falls coming closer and closer. Not for a long time, if ever, had he felt so utterly alone as when he realized that if all went according to the PLAN, he would never be alone again for the rest of his life. 

Alone and without Harry, for he had convinced himself that after having deceived the Gryffindor in getting him pregnant... he would never be forgiven.

Giving in to his anxiety, he cried.

Having wallowed in his anxiety for a good while, Draco finally decided to do something about it. There was only one way which he knew would make him forget all of it, distract him from thoughts of the life growing inside of him, a life he had altered his very physique to be able to bear. Might as well go out and celebrate, in a way, even when he had decided that he'd not tell anyone about his pregnancy this early on. He was only days, maybe a week along. When that thought hit him, he had to sit down again for a little bit again, hands curling protectively over his abdomen. It felt both unreal and so frighteningly real, as magic did not lie, magic was the one thing he trusted in the world to be constant, to be true, never failing. Magic had made this pregnancy possible and had told him it was real. After some moments, he had settled enough to get up and go and get dressed, his legs only feeling like jelly a little bit. 

Walking to his closet, he held a hand on his stomach, knowing he would definitely not do that while out in public, as it was the same as screaming I'M PREGNANT to everyone who cared to know, for a pregnant wizard was not unheard of in the Wizarding world, especially after the War. Realizing now that he had not even said it aloud, he did. 

“I'm pregnant,he said quietly, the knowing of it still so new to demand a hushed voice. ?'m pregnant with Harry-bleeding-Potter's baby?he repeated, adding a little. ?arry's baby. And mine.”

The thought made him smile.

As he was rummaging through his closet, Draco realized that in a few month's time he wouldn't fit in most of his figure-hugging outfits. Feeling a bit unsettled, and oddly somehow bloated by the thought, he chose something not too snugly-fitting. A green and black mock-corset shirt with ruffled elbow-length sleeves was paired with an almost see through black lace skirt. He fitted his feet with thigh-high black leather boots, wanting to avoid stiletto-heels. Draco grimaced, he was becoming such a mother hen, all of a sudden. His laid his hand on his abdomen, smiling nonetheless. He'd try and avoid any harm to befall his child, when and if he could. He'd put all too much work into getting pregnant in the first place, after all. And the child was a Malfoy, and his. No way Draco was letting a child of his own get hurt. 

Also, he had gone through enough trouble to even have conceived to have all that trouble to go to waste.

He patted his stomach, looking around for his purse. ?et's go have some fun with your daddy, right?Draco asked his unborn child jokingly. He stuffed his wand into his purse and then left.

It was for the Drunken Djinn once more. 

The club was nice enough, and Draco was quite sure that he would find Harry there. Walking to the fire-place in his bedroom, Draco suddenly stopped, his hand inside the ornate jar which held Floo Powder in it, his fingers already sunk in to grasp a palm full of the glittering powder. Would it be bad for his pregnancy to floo? He couldn't remember. He tried to wrack his brain and came up with a memory of seeing a heavily pregnant witch flooing one time he'd been on Diagon Alley as of late, having only made note of it because of the very real possibility of him being in that condition sooner or later. Decided, he went for it, throwing the powder into the grate, which made the familiar green flames shoot up, stepping in, he shouted his destination.

When he finally stumbled out of the grate at the cloak room of the Drunken Djinn, he was completely sure that he would not floo much in the following months. 

A hand on his mouth, he stumbled a little. His stomach was roiling and his head spinning, neither of which had happened to this extent since he had been little and even then rarely ever. Coming from a wizard family, he had of course floo'd since he'd been a baby. Looking around, he looked if anyone had noticed, mindful of his dignity battling the bile rising up in his throat. Once he'd ascertained that no-one was none the wiser, mostly since there were maybe a few other people in the corridor where the floo exit was, along with the cloak room and toilets, he slunk into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. He was very glad that his roiling stomach settled, throwing up in the bathrooms of one of Diagon Alley's wizard clubs would have been an embarrassment he didn't want. Well, he didn't want to throw up in any case, regardless of lost dignity. He had had enough of that when his body had been changing. Well, and monthly he'd been... but he'd not think about that, not now. 

Looking up at his hair in the mirror, frowning at the paleness of his face, Draco fished his wand out of his purse and flicked it at his hair and face, looking rather charming with an artfully made-up face and a curly hair-do. Satisfied, he smiled. He stood still for a few moments more, making sure nothing was coming up and waiting for his head to stop spinning. He was infinitely glad he was alone, even when the stray thought of Harry's presence making it better flitted though his mind, brushed off without a moment's notice. After a few moments, he felt as normal as he ever would and decided to go out into the club. 

He slunk into hall without, strutting like he was sex on legs. Strutting into the dance floor, he smiled and joined the throng of wildly swaying bodies, groping hands and drunken revelry. 

After having gyrated his body by the beat of the music for a while, putting on a show, there was a pair of hands which wound around his waist, so familiar that he wouldn't even have had to turn around to see who it was taking hold of him so possessively. Yet Draco swirled around, a sinful smile playing on his lips. He looked up into Potter's bespectacled face. He was infinitely glad of seeing Harry but would never have admitted it.

This was what it was all for, this sinful sway, the way he knew Harry wanted him, needed him. Even when Draco told himself it was all only ever about the baby, his heir, the Next Last Malfoy.

“Hullo, Potter,Draco all but purred, pressing his body against Harry's, rubbing and smirking as he heard the Boy Who Lived exhale sharply and buck against him. He did so while still swaying to the beat of a rather fine tune by the Weird Sisters, who were playing tonight. What luck. 

Harry gyrated pack, not about to be outdone. Draco noticed him surreptitiously running his eyes up and down his body, taking in his clothes. ?raco...Harry replied. 

Draco had to laugh and press himself even closer. Suddenly the idea, the reason behind his clubbing tonight, that he and Harry had made a baby seemed completely ludicrous. He let his upper body rest against Harry's torso, swaying to the beat. 

“What are you laughing about?Harry asked, his body tensing up, but his hands never left Draco's body. His reaction was one more indicator that Harry had no love for him, Draco decided.

“Been a long long day,Draco merely replied. Harry's hands held him tighter, wound around his still flat waist, resting over where Draco's magical womb was. If Potter had only known. The blonde was sure his companion wouldn't have been grinding his hips, his groin against a mini-skirt glad behind had Potter known what he had done to Draco, how he had changed the course of both their lives. 

Draco shook his head. He was celebrating, not turning maudlin. His day at the Ministry first, and then coming home to find out he was really going to become a... mother, for the lack of a better term. It had been exhausting, not that his body was that, well, a bit. He wasn't that far along. And he did feel better with Potter now, even if he'd never admit it.

“Like my clothes?” Draco asked, pushing back against Harry. He needed a connection. He needed, not that he'd admit it, Harry's closeness, the knowing that the bloody Boy Who Lived might just care. There was too much bad blood between them, never mind the building of bridges they'd done after Voldemorts demise, that Draco doubted very much that they could ever be together as a real couple, caring and affectionate, sharing each other's life out of bed and the tangle of sweaty limbs, greedy lips and fiercely bucking hips they seemed so often to become when alone.

Potter's hands ran over them, caressing him, patting here and there. Exploring. “Nice...” Harry grinned at Draco, an action which went straight into the blonde's groin and made him even hornier, Harry could tell.

“Wanna go shag now?” Draco countered, grinding his barely covered arse against Harry's crotch once more. 

The Gryffindor moaned low, gripping Draco's arms and bucking against him. Draco felt him starting to waken and moved his derriere into the rhythm of the music. They danced decadently among the sea of swaying bodies all around them. But soon the world shrunk into just the two of them and their bodies moving together. 

Draco hissed as Harry pressed a kiss into his neck, hands wrapping over his torso, the other straying low, low, petting over his groin. The blonde countered with a rash shove backwards, his bottom now moving against Harry's burgeoning erection. 

Potter gasped. 

How they made it into Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, where Harry was currently sleeping, neither of them had no idea. They stumbled from the front steps through the door, as if drunk, but none, well at least not Draco, had had a drop of alcohol. Clothes were divested as they went, and when they finally made it into Harry's bedroom, Draco was clad in only his boots and the corset. The portraits on the walls commented on their progress from the front-door to Harry's room in an upper landing but they paid them no heed.

Harry closed the door behind them, spelling it shut. When he turned around, he saw Draco standing by the bed, all ready for him. The former Slytherin was licking his rouged lips sultrily, looking at Harry like he was going to eat him whole. Harry was so hard for him it hurt, which was why his having his trousers hanging open was a good thing. Draco's cock was hard and leaking, bobbing a little against the fabric of his shirt.

“How about that shag, then, Potter?” Draco asked, spreading his legs a little bit, leaning on the bed-frame behind himself. He knew that he looked slutty, but just couldn't care. In a way he was giving Potter an excuse to blame it all on him, when the inevitable scandal would break out. “Malfoy Heir Seduces Harry Potter, Saviour of the World”. 

“Fuck, Draco...Harry moaned, his head thumping onto the door behind him with a dull thud.

“That's the general idea, Harry, Draco drawled. 鼎ome, 'ere now and give us a nice long shag, yeah?”

Harry went to the bed, chucking off his trousers and taking off his shoes. When he was by Draco's side, the blonde grabbed him and kissed him fiercely, there was a certain desperation, a hesitance in his actions, which Harry barely registered at the time but understood later. 

They stumbled onto the bed over fresh sheets, kissing and groping. 

Soon, Harry had Draco under him, moaning, bobbing his head up and down over the other's engorged length. Draco was fisting the sheets, his hips moving on their own, as Harry's lips and tongue danced over his heated flesh. Harry was humping the bed underneath his own hips, as his hands took hold of Draco's and his mouth swallowed his lover deep.

Draco was lost in a sea of sensation. Harry's mouth on him was almost too much to bear. Within mere moments, he came with shout, spending himself down Harry's throat. The Gryffindor's body flopped down by his, and as Draco shifted his leg, he felt the other's erection nudging it. Wickedly, he moved his leg again, and was rewarded with as moan by Harry. 

Later, after Harry had come by Draco shifting and shifting his leg against his erection, they dozed off for a while and then Draco fucked Harry to the mattress. 

Loving every minute of it. 

Draco woke up before Harry did, the following morning. He just lay there on his side, looking at Harry sleep, holding a hand to his still flat stomach. Their baby. Harry's and his. Scary, yes. But he was a Malfoy and had wanted to do it. He wandered off into the corridor with a robe of Harry's covering his nudity. As he meandered his way over into the kitchen, he saw that the couple living at Twelve Grimmauld Place were at home and having breakfast. Like they had been every single time Draco had spent the night.

“Morning,he greeted civilly and sat down at the other end of the long table from the two elder men. 

Sirius frowned at him, while Remus sort of blushed. 

“Morning,Sirius finally said as Remus buried himself into the Daily Prophet. 添ou have fun last night with Harry?he asked while he spread some raspberry jam on his toast.

Draco smiled at him wickedly, his broad grin splitting his face. 的t was fun, sorry if we were loud when coming in. All of them knew that it was just polite conversation, not a genuine apology. He looked down as a plate appeared in front of him, a house-elf, not the treacherous Kreacher, serving him breakfast. 

“Well, you certainly shocked many of Sirius' relatives Remus finally remarked from behind his Daily Prophet. He was sipping a cup of tea. The mirth of his tone was unmistakable. 鄭gain.”

The last of the Malfoy's chuckled, tucking in to his food. 的 aim to please. Harry didn't mind.”

“We heard...” was Sirius' last word before he fell silent, drinking his coffee.

* * *

In the following months, Draco avoided Harry as much as he could, which wasn't that much, since they both worked at the Ministry.

Draco had made himself scarce after that breakfast at Twelve Grimmauld place, not liking the looks Remus was giving him, Remus would sniff the air and then look at him, his eyes perplexed. Draco could only thank his stars that the werewolf was discreet. As he'd walked towards Diagon Alley to risk flooing into Malfoy Manor, even if he'd throw up into the grate when he got there, Draco had mused over his situation. The fear over being pregnant was catching onto him, the fear of going in at it alone not far off and, hovering over it all, his confused feelings over Harry. 

He was unsettled over his emotions, the look Potter had given him that last time they'd been together had made him... care. And he did not care, the only one he cared about was his child. Yes, it would have been nice to have a relationship based on at least respect, and Potter's shagging was the best he'd had, and maybe he was beginning to care but. Somehow, Draco had opted to avoid Harry, rather than confront his emotions, or what Harry felt about him and the issue of Potters paternity of his baby. 

Draco took care of his body in any way he could, seeing a medi-witch specialized in midwifery and magic-induced pregnancies especially. It had been a bit embarrassing at first, but after the first visit it had been okay. He had chosen a medi-witch known for her discretion, not wanting to announce his pregnancy to the whole world in this delicate state of things.

He put all his efforts and thoughts into taking care of the baby and himself, not thinking about Harry at all, even when he should have been.

Draco did see Harry when he went into work, but tried to avoid him, which was not that easy in the Ministry. The rumour mill made him lose his temper. He heard it all from him and Harry having had a terrible fight and breaking up, or then they had had a fight and Draco was sulking. They still had a few gropes and kisses in dark corners, but Draco blamed his workload for not being able to see Harry as often as he had, or for as long as it would take to take care of both their needs. Even when he was in a way avoiding seeing Harry, he was affronted over how easily the Gryffindor swallowed his excuses. Ludicrous, it was. Absolutely completely ludicrous. While Draco knew he was in no way losing his slim physique just yet, he was sure that the on-off morning sickness which had begun to plaque him, the first week had been a miracle in itself, but the nausea had wormed it's way into his everyday life. He was just glad he wasn't too sick during the working day, albeit he had noticed that his increase in paleness had been noted and was discussed about when people thought he didn't hear.

He did not miss Harry. 

Running away from his love, he did not see what was smack right in front of him, either. Thoughts of Harry began to preoccupy his mind so that he neglected himself a little. Not a lot but little. He still drank the potions he needed to drink and did not shirk on anything that concerned his child, yet there were little things that he let slide.

Some nights, when he lay in bed, all alone in the Manor, the walls seemed to close in on him and the space around him, the empty halls began to feel too much. Only by thinking that Harry was there, sharing the bed with him, did make it easier somewhat. Even when the fantasies fell short on what could have been the reality, had Draco been willing to tell Harry the truth. 

Harry tried to corner him more than once, but still Draco believed that he did not care for him enough. And in unguarded moments, when he let his mind slip from its denial, he knew that he cared all too much. He wanted a family with Harry, not just him alone with his child, but a proper family. But somehow, asking Harry about his feelings... it was impossible. As was telling Harry he was carrying their child, Harry's child as much as his. So he pined away, not noticing the looks Harry gave him, the way concern filled his observant green eyes, how he frowned when he saw how pale the pregnancy made Draco look.

The elation mixed with smugness also wore off quite quickly by the time that the morning-sickness rolled in full-force, as if to make up for not being as present as it should have been during the first five weeks. Draco had feared it might become more intense, but it still came as a sort of nasty surprise, even if his medi-witch, too, had warned him of it. As he retched morning, noon and often evening, Draco really felt like books did not tell the whole and nothing but the truth. And he was so tired, bone-weary. And it was getting worse by the day.

He stumbled through his days and slept fitfully through his nights, nothing seeming to settle his body into a state of normalcy. Some days he could barely keep the potions down, would fumble and almost mispronounce the spells he needed to perform daily, a false syllable could lead to disaster.

Draco was exhausted by it all. He was also beginning to worry. He was quite sure that the pregnancy should not tax him as much as it did. During his next visit to the medi-witch he was seeing, he asked about it.

The kind elderly woman looked at him reassuringly. “These kind of magical pregnancies are always a little more taxing, you know. Even when everything works for you as it would for a witch, you still needed magic's aid in falling pregnant. I suggest crackers for the morning sickness, and making sure you eat regularly. Small meals are best.”

Draco Malfoy sighed. He knew that. She was telling him nothing new. Yet even when he had read the books, poured over them, had a shelf full of pregnancy books in his bedroom at the Manor, Witch and Muggle alike, it did comfort him a little hearing her assure him. 

“But I am taking care of myself, as I should. I'm downing the potions and saying the spells and I try to sleep as much as I can.” He told her, a bit of his snotty Draco Malfoy nature raising it's head and just having to butt in. He knew he sounded a little petulant but did not care. He was Draco Malfoy for Merlin's sake! Also, his stomach was roiling just a little, which made him not as gracious as he should have been. He had gotten better at being polite and taking account other people's feelings after the War and all, but with the morning sickness, he was letting himself go, just a little. He of course did not account for that that people who did not know he was pregnant in the first place probably saw him as his snotty high-and-mighty self, most days Draco could not find it in himself to care about that. Not all of his Malfoy manners had been made tolerable, after all. Nor should they be.

But the medi-witch was undaunted, with her years of experience with pregnant witches and wizards alike, her speciality being wizard pregnancies in particular, it was precisely because she was an expert in the field had been why Draco had chosen her for his pre-natal care, she was used to her patients being snappish. Especially since the hormonal fluctuations in magic-induced wizard pregnancies were very common.

“I am sure you are, Mr. Malfoy,” she placated him. 

Then, Mrs. Parr her name was, the medi-witch smiled at Draco. She did keep her distance and did not reach over to pat his knee. Not that Draco's dignity had not suffered in her examinations, which had been thorough. 

“Now,” Mrs. Parr continued, her eyes piercing Draco with a stare which nigh made him flinch,  
”How are you getting along with the father of your child?”

Draco frowned. 

But he knew that she did not know it was Harry. He had not yet told anyone. Somehow, though, he was sure that if anyone knew he was pregnant, they would probably guess that the father of his child was Harry Potter. He had not been secretive over his relationship with the sometimes infuriating Gryffindor, Blooody Saviour of the Sodding Wizarding World.

“I haven't told him,” Draco had to admit, to his chagrin. 

However much he would have liked to cloak this particular 'failing' of his, at least others would see it as failure, he had promised himself that he would be honest when it came to anything that had a bearing on his pregnancy. He failed to, or refused to see, that he was failing in that too, at least what came to Harry and him not knowing that Draco had even tried to get pregnant.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Mrs. Parr admonished him gently. As Draco looked on, she shook her head and pursed her lips. She was going all elderly and wise on him and he did not particularly care for it. 

“I think that it is my own business and mine alone what information I share over my child and heir with the father, I should think...” Draco said coldly. He was speaking in controlled bursts, feeling not a little sick.

“But such magical babies as yours need their other parent close to help with the pregnancy,” she informed him. Then she looked at his face, which Draco was sure was a little green tinted, and frowned. Shaking her head, she proceeded to point her wand at a jar on one of the shelves, flick it with the appropriate incantation, Vincardium Leviosa, which made it fly over to her. Mrs. Parr then popped it open and offered it to Draco. “Take one, you look ready to be sick and I rather like my carpet the way it is.”

Draco took one of the fudges and chewed on it gingerly, trying to keep his nausea at bay. The more he chewed, however, the better he felt. He offered the medi-witch a grateful smile.”What are they?” he asked, once he had eaten all of it.

“Feel-good Fudges, help with pregnancy related nausea like a charm,” Mrs. Parr answered. She'd popped the lid back and offered the whole thing for Draco to take. “Here, have them all, I am sure you'll have use of them.”

Obligingly, Draco took the offered jar, propping it onto his lap.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy,” She went on, not having missed a beat, “You really ought to tell the other parent about the baby you are carrying. I know that you have read the books and know the theory. Your baby needs its other parent close, otherwise the magic will start to wilt, no matter how many potions you drink and how much you chant.”

Grudgingly, Draco had to agree with her. He did know. He had just been avoiding the thought, which had been nagging at him since he had begun to avoid Potter. He'd known it was wrong to do so, which hadn't, sadly, prevented him from doing it.

Mrs. Pharr and Draco talked for a little bit more before he was on his way, going home with the conviction that he would tell Harry and would definitely stop avoiding him. 

For the sake of their baby.

And maybe, a thought he'd not dare admit thinking, for his own sake.

* * *

But that very day, late in the evening, before Draco had even had the chance to tell Harry, which he'd planned on doing the very next day, everything went horribly wrong for him and his child.

Draco had had his supper and was ready to turn in. He had been reading a little before bed, feeling a little our of sorts, his body feeling oddly cramped and aching. When he had gotten up from his arm chair to go to bed, everything had went to hell. A pain had pierced through his abdomen, so fierce and intense that it both robbed him of breath and had him falling down on the floor, screaming as he went down.

Draco lay on the floor, his body afire with an agony ripping through his abdomen. He knew, in a moment of devastating clarity of mind obscuring the white hot agony which was shooting through his body, that something was terribly, horribly wrong. 

He had failed.

A volley of thoughts cascaded upon him in the wake of that thought. The Malfoy pride instilled in him, bone-deep, mocked him for failing, even when he had not yet failed completely. The thought that the pain would have devastating results was a black cloud covering his mind, drowning him in a sea of despair. Hot white agony held him tight as his hands cradled the subtle swell of his abdomen, trying in vain to protect, to shield the tiny miracle slumbering within. To protect his child from whatever was going wrong in his body. 

He struggled to get upright, to reach for his wand, but could not do it. His voice cracking, he called for his house-elf, glad that he was even lucid enough to form words. 

As he waited, he, the great Draco Malfoy, whimpered, as a warm sticky liquid began to seep into his pants. His body convulsed in a spasm and he cried out. Later he'd swear that he'd felt and heard the magic start to crumble. 

It felt like he'd lain there for an eternity but it must have been only mere minutes before the patter of tiny feet, following a popping sound, pierced through into his pain-hazed mind, his call finally answered. The voice which spoke, squeaky and high, barely registered in lieu of Draco's motley of panicked thoughts, guilt, fear and self-loathing. 

“Master Malfoy!”

There was one clear thought in Draco's head now, the only thought that shone through the chaos of the pain, humiliation over failure, fear for the child within: what he had read about the potion. He had gone over the passages regarding such a situation as this with a non-personal detachment. Yet, now, with the reality of what those words had meant crashed over him the words shone bright in his mind. The only person who could help him, the only person he wanted by his side now, was the father of his child. Harry Potter. Things were too dire now for any medi-witch to help him now.

Harry Potter who wasn't even aware that Draco was carrying his child. Harry Potter whom Draco had tricked into knocking his person up. Harry Potter, who was the object of Draco Malfoy's affections. The man Draco wanted to spend his life with. The man whose baby might be dying now, if nothing was done to prevent the rebelling of Draco's body. Of course, Draco had seen a medi-witch, had done so that very day, but the stipulations of his pregnancy gave the other father a good chance to save the baby due to the magic that had been applied to create such a miracle within a wizards body.

Screaming, Draco's head moved wildly, cracking on the floor underneath him. Before he could say anything to the house-elf, darkness claimed him.

But his oblivion, his escape from the pain and the grim reality was only brief.

Harry was there, kneeling by his side on the floor. Draco wasn't sure how he looked, but it was safe to say that he must be the spitting image of a right good mess. His eyes, his brain wouldn't focus properly, the pain making it hard to think, to even see well. He felt the dampness of the blood on his lower half, felt the spasms, the pain. Could hear himself whimper piteously but not caring. Because Harry was there and it might not be too late.

“What the hell?” Potter asked, reaching out for him. “You need a medi-witch, bad! A healer!”

Draco hated the rasp of his voice as he drew in a breath, not that he afforded to be Draco Malfoy now, the self-centered, aloof prick everyone at Hogwarts had hated. A whimper which passed his lips. Really rather unbecoming of a Malfoy, yet he didn't care, not really. Everything simply hurt so badly to care about self-image. “Hold onto my hand...” he blindly reached out to Harry with his bloodied digits, the thin pale fingers swaying and seeking out. Pain kept him to the floor, blinded his sight so he only had a vague idea of Harry being by him.

“But a healer---” Potter started, reaching out all the same, his fingers curling on Draco's bloodied ones. 

Draco cut him off, panting, trying to ride the pain out.

“Healer can't help, too far gone...” Draco knew that he was mumbling and didn't care. Didn't even know what he was saying. He closed his eyes, trying to focus through the agony, to focus on the magic keeping their baby alive and Potter just had to be Potter and blab on.

“Why're you bleed?-- Are you, what the hell?!” Potter gripped his hand tighter, the other going over his body in search for any damage sustained in whatever accident that the Gryffindor must've believed he'd suffered.

“Focus on me, pregnant,” Draco gritted out, starting to really panic because the pain was a bit too much now, too relentless, unforgiving “your baby dying...”

“Fuck, Mafloy” the other mumbled, cursing. Holding on, preventing Draco from slipping away into welcoming darkness which danced in the edges of his mind.

But oblivion now would mean the death of their child.

“FOCUS!” Draco screamed as his body convulsed once more. 

Potter did, for what good it did. In the end, there was nothing doing, the baby had died. 

Draco felt numb when they rushed him to St. Mungo's against his refusals to go there. Potter had insisted. Later, he would remember the blood and the warmth of Potter's hand in his and the crying, the panicked voices. But, in the immediate aftermath, he was numb inside and sore.

Hating himself.

The people at St. Mungo's fussed a lot. The last to the Malfoy line being brought in for a miscarriage. Draco was only happy that his father pressed the right people so it never made into the Daily Prophet. But that was later. Days later. On the day following that longest evening and horrid nigh, of which he remembered little, he lay in bed in a private room after he'd been cleaned up and fixed, even when there was no fixing the most important thing that he'd lost. His child was gone. Away. Dead. His body had betrayed him. He had failed. All of it whirled through his mind as he lay, dry eyed, distant and seemingly uncaring, on pristine white sheets in a bed which was not his. 

Only when Harry came, as Draco knew he would, did he begin to show any signs of life. 

“You should've told me, Draco...” The Gryffindor started with the obvious. 

For once his tone wasn't grating on Draco's nerves, nor did he sound really accusing. Albeit, what did Draco care, he was a failure, wasn't he?

Draco merely lay there, staring up at the ceiling as Harry came to him and sat down by him. For all intents and purposes seeming to have decided to stay. There was silence for a while, as Potter waited for an answer. Draco's hands lay on the covers, limp and lifeless. All too soon, Harry took hold of one of them and the Malfoy facade began to crumble.

He let it, for what did it matter now, when Harry had seen him convulsing and bloodied on a floor, had heard him whimper, had seen him fail. 

“Might not have made any difference,he said,” voice still hoarse from screaming. At that moment, he sincerely wished that they had drugged him so he could have postponed this very particular conversation. He didn't want to talk about this with Potter. Not now. Not ever. It was too fresh, if anything, now. There was an emptiness within him, which he wasn't sure... He fought to not cry. “I was going to... today... but I...”

“Or then it might have made all the difference,” Potter said softly. It was almost too much, that soft tone, the understanding.

Draco's head turned on his pillow, his pale eyes were impossibly wide. “Are you accusing me?”He asked coldly, barely holding onto the tremble which was threatening to overcome his tone. He blinked his eyes so as not to cry. He couldn't... Although why shouldn't he? Let Potter see the mess he'd become, the hollow shell of a man.

“I'm not and you know it...” Potter said. “... just... Why didn't you tell me?”

“What does it matter now, when the baby is dead?” Draco screamed, losing it. “DEAD!”he bellowed and broke into uncontrollable, violent sobs, which wrenched and hurt his torn insides. 

The realization washed over him and he felt wretched for having ever complained about the morning-sickness, he would rather have felt sick like that for a long time, rather than have this empty feeling, this horrid gut-wrenching knowing that the bay was no more.

Then there were strong arms wrapped around him and there was no staunching the flow of the tears, no damming his sorrows.

Even when he hated himself for showing such weakness, for losing it in front of a Gryffindor of all people, Draco was secretly glad that Harry had been there. He had been alone all along his pregnancy. He hadn't even had the chance to tell his parent's about it. He would have, at dinner at the manor the following day. Draco had been excited over their reaction, sure that his mother would have been very happy, and his father proud of him carrying on the family line, passing on the main branch bloodline onto another generation, a new Malfoy heir. Now it was all ashes. 

Harry held him for a long time. Draco allowed it because he was too weak and worn, too broken to tell the Gryffindor to just stuff it and get lost, leave him alone with his grief. He found it a little strange that he had gotten as attached as he had to the baby, even when he'd known that it wasn't even that big. Over all his thoughts was the nagging question coming up to the forefront of his mind of why. Why had it happened. Why couldn't his baby have lived? Why did it have to die?

“Why aren't you leaving?” He finally had to ask. He wanted Harry to let go of him. Push him away and shout abuse. Wanted it even when... things had been quit different between the two of them during the last year. Yet he wanted nothing more than for Harry to be gone, gone and never come back to him. 

Harry just held him tighter, not letting go, not going anywhere. “Why should I leave? I just found found out that you were having my baby and then you...” There were tears in Harry's voice. How dared he care so much? “You lost it, how can I leave when you lost it? How can I?”

Draco was too raw from the crying. Part of him blamed Harry for this. For all his snoozing into other people's secrets and finding out what should never have been found out, the Gryffindor had been awfully dense when it had come to Draco and his baby. Not even the fact that Harry's up-bringing might have explained it all, that he had probably never heard of a male being pregnant, let alone seen one, did not ingratiate him to Draco. Draco who wanted and needed to blame someone else than himself.

“What if I tell you to leave? What If I demand for you to leave?” he tried channelling his best Malfoy voice, but failed. He had no energy for it, it took enormous effort to properly Malfoy, after all. Deep down, he did not want Harry to go anywhere. Draco wanted the man to hold him and not let go until it stopped hurting the way it was. But he was not sure if he would have that. If he would be allowed to be so lucky. He had been in the wrong in keeping Harry in the dark, had wilfully ignored most of what the books said. His eyes begged for Harry to not leave.

“What if I say that I wont?”Harry stated, stubborn as ever, taking a weight off of Draco's weary shoulders. 

But Draco would not have been a Malfoy, not a proper one, if he had not protested. He struggled for as much as his aching body allowed, fighting the hold Harry had on his hands. Draco still struggled, gasping at the pull on his sore midriff, his empty womb aching, even when Harry kissed him. It was a snarl of dominance at first but Draco had to give in, had to accept Harry's comfort, Harry's caring. 

Draco was out of breath, hopeful amidst his quilt and sorrow, laid down gentle when Harry was through kissing him. 

“I care more than you know, Draco,” Harry said. “Don't shut me off.”

“I'll try.”

For as much as it was worth, Draco was beginning to see a glimmer of hope, even if he'd not dare fully trust it.

* * *

Narcissa and Lucius came to visit Draco late that night at St. Mungo's. 

His mother had wept, it was clearly written on her tear-stained face, the paleness of her skin, the red circles around her eyes. But her look held nothing but love for her only son. Draco wanted to cry again, seeing her. He had been so excited over telling her, letting her know she would be getting her first grand-child. And his father... it was a shock in itself, seeing the usually so stoic and collected man betraying emotion.

Narcissa sat gracefully on the edge of his bed and leaned close to hug Draco. He clung to her, crying a little, even when it felt like he had already cried so much that there'd be no more tears, letting himself go. Even then he knew that she might not have embraced him had they been at the ward instead of a private room. Although, she had melted somewhat since the War. Since that day at Hogwarts when she and Lucius had been searching for him at Hogwarts, all dignity and decorum cast aside. 

When she released him, Draco saw that fresh tears glinted in her beautiful eyes. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Narcissa asked Draco, her husband drawing himself a chair and sitting on the other side of Draco's bed. But the son's eyes were all for the mother, not the father, for the moment. There was 

Draco sighed and swallowed, happy for the hand that held his, Narcissa's hand. He had to blink his eyes a little as the thoughts that he could have... could have been one who held their child's hand like she was holding his, hit him. 

“I did not have the time, it was too new I...”

He was sobbing again. The emptiness washed over him anew, the not caring what happened in the world because his child was dead. Dead. He wished ardently that things could be different. They should be. He did not deserve this. Not this. But maybe he did? Maybe he was finally paying for his arrogance, his Malfoy pride. Yet why did it have to be his child that had to pay the price? An innocent child... Pain gripped him and he clung to his mother.

She sighed. “ I know. And I am so sorry.”

His father had remained silent. But now he spoke, too. “I am sorry too, son. I know that it must have been... hard.”

Draco was thankful for even that. When he had informed his parents that he was gay, his father had not taken it that well, at least not in the beginning. He had mellowed later on. But Draco had known that the lack of a heir to carry on their line had gnawed at Lucius, who was all for the family. Draco felt the quilt of having let his father down.

As a dutiful son, he had to say what needed to be said. For what did it really matter now, his pride, anything? The will to keep up appearances was so high and he suddenly felt... numb. 

“I am sorry for failing, father.”

There, the dutiful son, through and through. A proper bred Malfoy. Something he'd never have. He'd never... And the pain was back again, gnawing at him. And in a moment of weakness amidts the darkness Draco wished ardently that Harry had been there beside him. Making it better. Damn the Potter's need for food and drink, even when the man had been dragged away.

“You did not... fail, Draco,” Lucius said, he glanced at Narcissa and then back at him. “I am just so happy that you are alive.”

The admission shocked Draco, what there remained of him to be shocked, that was.

The look on Narcissa's face was strange, but Draco paid it little attention, still in the grips of his all too fresh grief. Draco was all too grateful that they did not ask who the father had been. He would have found it hard to tell them that it was the great Harry Potter. 

As if they didn't know, but he was grateful of the pretence that they didn't, the tact.

“Sleep now, my darling,” Narcissa said after some moments of silence. “We'll be here.”

And he did, his mother holding his hand in hers.

Yet, even sleep was not to bring rest, nothing could, when the nightmare was lived over and over in his head, not giving him a proper rest, escape from the sorrow.

*** 

When Draco was released from St. Mongo's, as healthy as he could be after having lost both his baby and a lot of blood, the blood-loss of course being taken care of with a couple of potions. Physically he was fine, but even Draco had to admit to himself that his mind was still a lot more worse for the wear. Even when he had been pregnant for only a little over three months, he had grown to be fond, no, love the child he was carrying. His and Harry's child. He had been ready to share his secret with Harry before it had all gone down-hill. Harry had come, but not soon enough. 

And now there was no getting rid of Potter, much as Draco tried. 

It was actually quite nice having Harry there. Being there for the last time the healer at St. Mungo's checked that there were no lingering effects, when Draco realized that he would soon be out in the world, where it would all be too real. Home in his bedroom at the Manor, where there was a shelf-full of books, reminding him. Where there was a little basket full of yarn in a myriad of colours, ready to be knitted into little things, which would never come to be. A bedroom with an empty bed and a home without a heart. It was all ashes in his mouth. 

A room which would always carry the memory of him writhing in agony, victim of his pride, suffering a loss that could have been prevented.

Yet with Harry, Draco had hope. That he was not alone in it all. That.. maybe something good would come out of this. At least that he would not need to go through it all alone. Maybe Harry cared as much as Draco did. Yet, at the same time, Draco was dreading for the day, the moment, he knew would come, when nice-Harry would drop the act and berate him for killing their child. 

Hate him.   
Accuse him.   
Leave him.

Even when Draco knew Harry as well as he did, having been with him on and off for almost a year now... Yet they had never been an item. Had never spent time with each other than the time they had fucked, dance, snogged and drunk themselves to oblivion, dancing in some club not wholly decent. 

Even given all that, Draco had taken Harry into the Manor. Potter had insisted. Things became interesting after that.

That first night, Draco was held by Harry. And he wept. The blood was gone from the rug but the memory of that time was still there. The books had sat in their shelf, mocking him. So had the knitting. Without Harry, Draco did not know what would have happened to him. 

The following morning, Draco had decided that he, they'd move into another bedroom. He could never suffer another night like that.

After that, they settled into a sort of dating situation all too smoothly. Nobody referred to Draco's miscarriage when he went back to work after his sick-leave. He did not know nor cared what reason there had been given for his absence. His position was so solid and his skills so needed that he left it at that. He had still had a job to come back to. So he did that, with as much eagerness as he could muster.

A distraction, a job to do was what he needed because otherwise he'd just been wallowing at home at the Manor.

Something did change, something which he let be public at the Ministry. It soon became the gossip of Wizarding England, especially Diagon Alley and all their London haunts. 

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were together. 

There were snapshots of them in the Daily Propher and the gossipy wizard magazines for the gossip hungry witches. Draco had not cared. Nor had Harry. He had actually threatened some over-zealous reporters when he and Draco had been cornered. Draco had felt such lust for Harry after that. They had been lucky to escape being exposed in flagrante in that alley, even when all they had done was dry hump each other into orgasm.

Little by little, Draco had begun to feel allright again, even when he never forgot, never could.

* *

“You know what?” Draco said. “Let's make a deal.” So it started again, maybe six months after their loss. Draco's big PLAN. 

Him and Harry were lying down in his bed, naked after a sweaty romp between the sheets. 

“What?” Harry asked, idly caressing Draco's side. He'd had Draco good and proper, balls deep within himself and was content and lazy on account. He was almost asleep, on the verge between sleep and consciousness. They had managed to not be torn apart by Draco's lying of his pregnancy and that horrible night when what could have been had been taken away from them. Harry was happy for that, not that he'd dare say it to Draco who, despite having grown a little mellow and not so prideful any more, did still have his Malfoyness in place. 

“You knock me up again and I'll let you live here...” Draco proposed. 

He thought that he should even have asked before hand the last time. Maybe then he would already have a kid on his arms, their child, the Malfoy-Potter heir. The apple of his parent's eye. He squished the thoughts as soon as they arose. No point in being maudlin. The wound was still too raw. There was no point in digging up the past. 

Also, he did not have the ulterior motive of feeling more content relationship vise if he and Harry were living together. Absolutely not. 

Harry was awake in an instant. “hat the hell?!” He yelled, right in Draco's face, livid. “After what happened last time? No way!”

“So you propose we remain childless for the rest of our days?” Draco countered, the familiar Malfoy glint alight in his cool grey eyes. He sat up, drew up his knees and laid his head on his knees.

He was again doing a conquest. Having his way, as was the Malfoy way, through and through. Even if there was no child, he wanted more of a stable life. At least he should get Harry to move in. Which was why he had proposed trying again, so the thought of moving in would fly past Harry as a non-threatening option. And there was always the possibility of tricking Harry, for there had been no altering back of his body, he was still able to conceive, even when Harry watched him down a contraceptive potion every single month.

“WE?!” Harry nigh screamed. 

Draco shook his head, amused. “Yes, WE,” he said, “Honestly, Potter, do you think that by this point I'd walk away without a child of yours?” he asked, purring. Thoughts of getting hurt, suffering a loss and his desire for Harry mixed into a jumble in his head. Yes, a child would be nice but there was no way he'd ever go at it alone. He pushed Potter down onto the bed on green sheets, a wicked smile on his lips. He'd taken the potions ever since, cast the spells and was infinitely more ready than last time, he hoped to be, at least. Had to be. He refused to think of himself, lying bleeding, his body failing their child. He would not be afraid.

Not even when he was. Utterly terrified.

“Malfoy...” it was the tone Harry always used when he was particularly irate with Draco. Not that it worked, ever. But Draco surmised that at least using it made Harry feel better. 

“Are you saying I'm not fit to have your child?” Draco asked, first angry, then lowering his tone to anxious. Sounding anxious came naturally because he was, he so was. He was going to quilt Harry into it if he had to, he knew that the Gryffindor would swallow the bait. “That I'll... fail?Draco used his most hurt voice, and did not need to even fake it. The miscarriage had hurt him, leaving behind a wound of the soul which he suspected would never fully heal. But he knew he had to live on. 

When he was wrapped in a tight hug, Draco knew that he had won. 

It was almost laughable, how easy it was to play Potter. Far too easy. Draco would have liked the sex which followed to have been a little on the rough side, not too rough, mind, but Harry treated him like he was the finest china. Somehow, it titillated Draco. It spoke straight to his vanity. And the drawn-out languorous pleasure of their sex wasn't half bad, truth be told.

It was... fun, having Harry live at the manor. Draco had never thought that being domestic would be as fun as it actually was. And, also, somehow comforting. It was easier to go through the motions of his potions and spells when he knew that he was not bearing the responsibility alone, that he had someone to talk to. 

He got a kick out of being the house-wife, what ever hell that was, Harry had said it to him and the idea had stuck. Not that he did not work. They both actually still had jobs at the Ministry. They snogged on their way to the grate, most often flooing into the office, and then snogged some more in the Ministry corridors, before going their separate ways into their respective offices. Draco really enjoyed shocking people. 

The way he kissed and groped Harry was a clear sign of his for other's to back off, that Harry was his and no-one else's. 

He sometimes sneaked into Harry's office for a mid-workday snog and a quick fuck. Harry often protested, claiming that he had a reputation to uphold, but Draco always got his way. Potter never threw him out. Not even after the one time when a few Ministry high-ups had barged into his office and found him with a lap full of an eager Draco. Draco had hexed them for their troubles, of course, while Potter had turned red as a beetroot. After that time, however, Draco always warded Harry's office for intruders. As he did his own. Harry came into his not as often as he visited Potters, but he came. And came . 

And every evening, after they had come home and had supper and just lazed about, it was time for the spell, just as every morning it was time for the spell and potions. Draco allowed for Harry to do it now that he lived in Malfoy Manor. Also, he somehow did not quite trust himself to not muck it up. His hand trembled a little, a little but enough to make the spell to not work. 

One evening in early June, almost a year since... the image came. 

Draco had been laying over the bed, grumpy and tired over a long day. He worked with idiots. IDIOTS. He had wanted nothing more than to turn in for the night, close his eyes and forget the world, falling asleep with Harry's arms around him. But Potter, in that irritating way of his, had fussed and said that they had agreed to do the spell every single night. They had been trying, often and hard, to get Draco pregnant. He had drunk all the possible extra potions and made Harry down several of his own, too. Draco had even went as far as asking professor Snape, now Headmaster of Hogwarts, for help. Severus had obliged. He had even been... supporting. It had been a little eerie, yet Draco had always gotten more help from Severus than a head of house-student relationship would have allotted. Snape had almost died for Draco, too.

His eyes were closed and he was half-way into sleep when Harry shook him rather violently. Irate, he opened his eyes to look at his live-in-lover with as much disdain as he could summon being as tired as he was. But Harry was not looking at him, well, not his face, but was staring down at his midsection with eyes like saucers. 

Draco's eyes moved and he saw.

There it was. The hovering image of their child, well, a hovering image of a silvery blob, which is what their child now was. Wrapped in a silvery haze. He was wide awake in seconds flat.Draco felt as ready to faint as harry looked. It was... amazing. Absolutely terrifying, sure, but amazing. Old fears, half-buried, half-forgotten, were trying to rear their heads but Draco wouldn't let them. This time would be different.

“I'll quit working,” he announced. There was no way he would work. No way. Absolutely none. He would stay home and avoid any kind of rigorous activity apart from a tumble in the sheets with Harry. Harry, who Draco was sure would treat him like he was spun glass, now that he knew. With Harry, it would be different than the last time. 

“I...” Harry said. His mouth was opening and closing. His wand-hand was hanging limply off his side, and had he not been sitting, he would be on a heap on the floor by now. 

Draco scoffed to cover the tremor in his own voice. Aloof, aloof, calm and collected Malfoy, he chanted in his head. Draco-fucking-Malfoy. Knocked up by Harry bleeding Potter. Fuck. Harry who was miles away, even when he was sitting right beside him.

“Touch it, know you want to. Go on for Merlin's sake!” Draco urged Harry, wanting him to touch, wanting his hands on him, just to make it real. Make it feel like he was not dreaming. Make it feel less scary, because old fears, all too real memories were creeping up on him.

Harry did. 

He lay no real weight on the hand, which made Draco feel like it wasn't really even there at all. Draco's eyes were now fixed on the image hovering above the exposed skin of his stomach. He remembered last time. Casting the spell alone, going on a night of wild partying and hot sweaty sex with Harry at Twelve Grimmauld Place. All of it. 

That night came to him with terrifying clarity. The pain. The blood. Harry by his side, panicking. Endless dark corridors and a wakefulness which came with a terrible loss. 

Before Draco could stop himself, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. He was entitled, allowed, wasn't he? Maybe Harry would stay and not bolt, like he was half-looking now. Draco knew it was a dirty trick but couldn't bring himself to care. And he was scared. “Don't let it die...” and then he broke down in sobs. Harry held him and mumbled assurance Draco could not grasp in detail. That night, they did sleep, once Draco's sobs dried into hiccups. Harry held him all night, not sleeping a wink.

Next day, Draco handed in his announcement of taking a leave of absence, sending it via owl post, for as long as it took, he said. Malfoy's did not apply. He also made Harry to go to work, as the Gryffindor became all too annoying with all his fussing and crying. It was grating. But at the same time, more wonderful than anything.

Finally alone, Draco realized that he didn't know what he would do. No idea at all. He lazed in bed all through lunch, having it in bed. After a few hours had passed since Harry had left Draco began to think that maybe he could have worked, at least a little while longer, before taking his... maternity leave. A horrid thought of Harry forcing him into wearing Muggle maternity clothes suddenly seized him. It was all too vivid for his liking, too. 

Not that he was that far along, in any case, Draco thought, fingers curling over his flat tummy protectively. The Spell only revealed the pregnancy when you were a few weeks along. When the baby was still very very small, a little dot inside him. Fragile. Draco would not cry. This would not be like last time had been. Harry was with him. He would not work. It would all be well. Had to be. 

He tried to cheer himself up with casting his mind only a few hours back, when Harry, in an act of surprising tenderness and trust (mostly since Draco could see Harry had a hard time really believing the baby was real), Harry had hugged his midriff, pressing kisses onto the skin.  
The thought calmed Draco a bit, but it also made him realize how alone he was now Harry was at the Ministry and he at home.

Not able to bear it alone for any longer, Draco wanted nothing more than to see Harry. But the Potter wouldn't be home for hours, and Draco wasn't going to go into the Ministry, there might be some nosey people who'd try and pry his secret from him. He wouldn't have that. 

There were so few people, Draco realized, to whom he could and did really trust anymore. The War had severed ties between him and many of his old Slytherin compatriots. They still mingled, of course, but there was but a polite fascade, meaningless small talk. People who got the chance to see the man behind the name. The Draco without a mask. Well, and there weren't many people who knew he was pregnant, for they hadn't told anyone yet, except Mrs. Parr, their medi-witch-midwife.

Suddenly, all he wanted to do was to go to Diagon Alley and stuff himself with Florean Fortescues ice creams. 

He threw a pillow to a window. 

Only a few hours alone, and he was going bonkers. He would not survive the pregnancy with his wits intact, he knew.

He put through a floo-call to his mother. 

She came. She hugged him. Draco hugged her back, lost. He cried, a little. 

“What if I lose this one too?” he asked the question he had not dared voice to Harry. Harry could not know how much he still hurt, how... weak he was. Malfoy's were not weak. Draco Malfoy was not weak. Yet he felt like a lost boy, knowing that his mother would always have the answer to everything. If she would not, then all was lost.

Narcissa hugged him. “You won't. We'll make sure that you won't.” She said, petting his blonde head. 

Draco was in awe of the evenness of her voice. She was always so calm and collected. In control.

“But what if?” Draco started, clinging to her, wishing he was still a boy, not a grown man, hoping for someone else to decide things for him.

“There are no what-if's when you're a Malfoy,” Narcissa shook her head, looking at her boy fondly.

“You can't know how it feels...” Draco said, not caring if he sounded petulant and childish. No matter how much he loved his mother, he was sure that his miscarriage was a subject his mother could not sympathize over with him. The tendrils of anxiety were not letting him rest.  
He was afraid of failure, weary of loss. He hadn't gotten the what-if's out of his head for a moment. He was sure there was nothing his mother could and would say. For what could she?

He was wrong.

Her mother gasped, a whispery sound, her hands gripping at Draco tight. “ I do... you do not even know how much I do.” Her voice trembled and when Draco looked up her eyes were wide, brimming with tears, which she was trying to hold in. “There was no reason to tell you before. I spared you before, your sorrow was still too raw for you to know... And before, well, never would I have thought that you would try and bear a child of your own.”

Draco was abashed, Narcissa's sorrow was deep and old, he had also seldom seen her weep. If he remembered correctly, the last time had been after the Battle of Hogwarts when she, face and clothes stained with soot and blood, had rushed to Draco in a panic along with Lucius, and had hugged him tighter than he could remember her ever having done. Well, there had been her tears when she and father had visited him at St. Mungos's, not too long ago. But this... it was a personal grief. 

“Mother?”

Narcissa shook her head to gather herself.”Have you ever wondered why you were an only child?” she asked Draco, the tears still glinting, unshed, in her pale grey eyes.

Draco bowed his head in the face of his mother's sorrow. He could not bear to look into the sadness in her eyes. The hand he held in his he squeezed more tighter, focusing on his mother's long pale fingers in his. “I'm sorry, I never knew... I did not mean...”

“It is all right, it's an old sorrow,” she held his hand tighter, her voice catching but a little bit. “But I always found it hard to conceive. Seems you share the trait as well, did you not say that... before, it took you a long time?”

Draco was grateful that his mother did not mention the failure of his first pregnancy. As much as he told Harry he was fine, there was still a place deep in his heart which mourned, would probably do so for the rest of his days. And he was frightened this time more than the first. Having suffered a miscarriage once already, the fear of another was not so easily diminished. 

“Yes,” he admitted, remembering how he had cornered Harry every chance he got. Like he had this time, too. “Took its time this time around, too.”

Narcissa actually almost sniggered, the resulting sound was something between a cough and a stifled laugh. “Yes, I have heard tell. Honestly, do you think it is the kind of behaviour for a Malfoy to engage in?” she asked her son, now shedding the wistful melancholy tone she had begun with.

But as Draco looked up at her, she was smiling, not admonishing him. 

“I hope he is good to you,” she continued. 

Draco's mind flashed to private fun times with Harry instantly.

“He is,” he had to admit, for it was his mother asking. 

“He better not break your heart.”

While they had tea and scones, Draco really hoped for that too.

* *

With Harry, there came the inevitable socializing with the Weasleys, and Hermione Granger, albeit she was by now a member of the clan of red-heads and bursting with the latest addition. Draco wanted so badly to offer his opinions, derisively of course, over Weasley fertility but held his tongue as he wanted to appease Harry. 

In the end, it was not so bad.

For one, when he announced that he and Harry were expecting, patting his rounded mid section, the faces around them were priceless. They were sitting on a rather bumpy and worn sofa in the drawing room of the Burrow three months later, being over for Sunday Dinner, and the Weasley's and their numerous spouses were sitting in chairs around the room, the other two members of the golden trio sharing the couch with them. All seven siblings with respective spouses and also a certain twice-removed relative of Molly's side of the family. There was a silence after Draco said the words which made the whole room stop as if the others had all been hit with a petrifying spell.

“I'm having Harry's baby.”

Of course, since they had been having tea and crumpets, there was a mess to add to the mix. 

As the silence continued on in the room, Harry fidgeting beside him, Draco grinned. Harry had turned a rather unbecoming shade of beet red, but still held onto Draco's slim pale hand, even if his grip was making Draco wince inwardly. He had such fun looking around from one face to the next. Shock was the most common emotion displayed on various faces, disbelief close on it's heels, subtle hostility not far behind. And then there was of course the amusement, which was throw in the mix as far as some of the older people in the room looked at the two of them. Draco was not surprised by that, for there were two couples in the room who had been using the same method as he had. He wondered briefly who had supplied them.

Finally, Hermione Granger-Weasley broke the silence, well, as far as words went, that is. The twins had already broken their tea cups by dropping them, making their mother wince. Ron was staring at the pair of Draco and Harry with his jaw wide open and his tea streaming down to the floor. The rest were simply stunned, like Draco had cast Stupefy over all of them. Well, Draco couldn't overlook the fact that there was a certain animagus staring at him with thinly-veiled murder in his eyes, only being held back by a certain lycanthropic ex-DADA teacher of their's. A certain rather pregnant ex-teacher, that is, who didn't look hostile, so Draco wasn't that worried. He didn't want Harry to lose his godfather, even when he and the an didn't get along that well. The only sympathetic gaze they got from Bill, the eldest of the brother's, who was grinning at them while holding hands with a wizard whom Draco did not know, which was saying much since Harry had been dragging him to these Sunday dinners for the last six months at least once a month. 

In fact Hermione and Sirius' words were mingled, Harry's godfather speaking over Hermione. “How did you manage it? I've read all about it but it's really difficult isn't it??” “How dare you trap him with a baby of all things?!” Ron added his own “Harry put a bun in your oven, Merlin's beard!” into the mix.

Draco nestled more comfortably against Harry's side, inducing a gaggle of splutters and one more broken tea-cup to add to the noises in the room. He was a little surprised he had not been hexed yet. All the more reason to plaster himself against Harry's side, where it was safe, not that he thought anyone who believed he was pregnant would hex him. But better safe than sorry.

“It was not difficult at all, after all, I am a Malfoy,” Draco replied to Hermione first, “and we did try, a lot”. His pure-blood side was still finicky over her Mudblood status but as he was himself shacking Harry who had a Muggle relatives... who was he to snub her? “I am in no way trapping Harry into anything, Sirius,” he said coldly to the last of the Black family line, and his mother's cousin. “What, Weasel? Jealous?” He sneered at Ron to round them all up.

Harry elbowed him into the side. “Behave,” Potter whispered. What a moment to regain his speech.

“Only if they will, Harry my love, only if they will,” Draco said, his tone cold, letting his eyes wander over everyone in the room. His hand curled tighter over his stomach. There was an undercurrent of fear simmering in the back of his mind. He was only six weeks past from when he had last... He took a deep breath, he would not break down in front of these people, even if Harry considered them family. That Harry had wound his magic into his, letting it coil into him to keep their baby safe, Draco was still wary.

The accusations continued to flow, but were snubbed by Harry's yell. “Shut up! I'm not being forced into anything! I love Draco.”

That really shut everybody up. Draco looked at Harry, his heart bounding through his chest. He... Harry could not have meant what he had said, not really. It was too cruel to be true. His weakness taking him over, Draco extracted himself and ran out of the room and into the garden without, tears in his eyes.

He stumbled through the overgrown garden right to the hedge. Harry's words rang in his ears, making him weak at the knees. Harry... Draco could not believe he had heard Harry say that. He could not dare hope that Harry loved him. It was too good to be true. He had deceived Harry, how could Potter ever love him? He had been on the opposite side, long ago, ready to bring about Harry's death. But then there was the things that had been between them all since they had both come to Hogwarts. The rivalry which had masked feelings they had both dared not confront. 

Why had Harry said he loved him, Draco wondered, letting his body fold down and sit on the dewy grass. Sun was already hanging low. All the summer creatures were starting their concert in the grass. Draco buried his head in his hands, unable to bear it no more. He cried, for it was all too much, any which way it was.

“Draco...” Harry's voice scared Draco out of his wits. 

He realized fully what he had done. He had run when Harry had said he loved him. Run and hid. Like a girl. (Even if he wasn't completely male inside, now, especially with the baby). Draco refused point blank to look up, let Harry see his face. There was no reason for letting him see his tear stained face. No dead baby and pain. Just the overwhelming emotion of Harry saying he loved Draco. 

“Go away,” Draco muttered, keeping his voice low so Harry would not realize he had cried. He had known that coming with Harry had been a very very bad idea. But he had gone anyway and was now paying the price for his stupidity. Malfoy's did not mix with Weasley's, that was how it had always been. He way it should have stayed. But he just had do go to please Harry.

There was a thump next to him and Harry leaned close, taking hold of Draco's person and making the blonde look at himself. 

“Won't, you can't make me, Draco,” Harry said, the intensity of his green eyes so great that Draco could not look away. Nor did he want to.

He was beginning to hope, even when he knew it would all end in tears. Harry could not. Not really. He had just been protecting his baby. Had to have been. There was no way that he loved Draco, cared for him. Wanted to be with him, more than just as the mother to his child. Draco had been too cruel, too foolish to let himself grow attached. 

“Please, I can't...” Draco wanted to swallow his weakness. Wanted to deny the warmth which filled him as Harry held him close. To keep away the want of wanting to kiss Harry, a need so great it... He felt a fluttering, within, and was instantly panicking, for any movement inside, anything... it could only spell bad things. “Harry?” His panic was clear in his voice, in his eyes, but he did not care, not now. His baby... Then he felt it again, a flutter, butterfly wings inside. Not a pain but still creepy as hell.

“What's wrong, Draco?” Harry looked into him with his own panic bristling, leaking out.

Draco's hand was on his stomach and his mind went frantically over everything that he had read. Hoping to come up with any explanation which did not involve blood and loss. And then he new, various discussions and pages in books hopping into his mind. “... I think I felt the baby kick,” he said, awed, realizing what was happening. It was... he did not shame the tears on his face now. Not one single one of them.

“It did?” Harry asked with the same awe in his voice which Draco felt. He put a hand on Draco's rounded belly, brushing over Draco's fingers, making the blonde gasp. Draco let his hand inch closer, brushing his fingers against Harry's. 

He wanted to believe. Needed to believe. Could not accept, did not want to, that this was it. That he would be having the baby with Harry... Harry, who loved him. 

Harry kissed him, trying to erase all doubt, at least making it palatable. Draco was finding it hard to think about out anything at all. The lips on his were scorching, too intense, almost. A kiss to fall for. 

Potter held him close, forcing him to listen, forehead against his forehead, green eyes commanding the attention of cool grey ones. Draco sank. Believed. 

“I love you,” Harry said to him, his voice a little unstable, fraying and trebling at the edges. “You have to believe that. Seeing you... then, bleeding on the floor, in so much pain, it broke me. But I... I was afraid. I've never... never had family, I seem to lose all those I love.”

Draco's heart broke into a million teeny tiny pieces and was then mended once more, stronger than before. But he was still afraid, just a little but also too much. Yet he knew that he had to. Had to admit his feelings. Otherwise it was all meaningless...he looked at Harry, hesitant, on the brink of changing who he was, on the bring of starting to break down his icy exterior, on the brink of declaring his love. Plunging into the unknown.

He raised his head hesitantly, having dropped his gaze as his mind had whirred a mile a second. Harry was looking him with such a raw expression it made his heart beat right out of his chest. It was overbearing. 

And he had to, just had to say it.

“I love you too, Harry...”

It was a whisper, yet felt like a shout to his over-excited senses, which were filled with the garden around them humming and singing, the blood pounding in his ears and Harry's face and warmth filling him. 

He felt safe, not anxious, scared, afraid or anything, just safe.

The smile Harry gifted him with was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. The kiss which followed, moulding them into one entity, was scorching, reaching down to burn Draco's heart, melt his haughtiness, make him trust. 

Hands explored, kisses travelled and mind rejoiced in the finding of a love neither had dared to hope getting. Harry was pushing Draco into the hedge, the blonde moaning eagerly, his hands grasping and petting every part of Harry he could get his hands on. 

Both of them knew it was highly inappropriate and rude to have sex in the Burrow's garden, but they did it anyway. Body ground against body as they moved, rutting, among the hedges. Their kisses swallowed any and all cries of passion. Grasping for the pleasure, they came in unison, crying out, gasping for breath. It was almost too much but not enough. 

After, Draco lay in Harry's embrace, still not quite believing in the declaration of love he had received. It seemed almost too fantastical that Harry felt that way about him. Too good to be true. Yet it was.

“It just seems too good to be true,” Draco said, basking in the afterglow of his orgasm. He had wanted to shout his love for all the world to hear, but Harry had swallowed his love and he Harry's. Draco had some dignity that he would like to hold onto. Yet he was sure that their appearance would betray them once they returned into the house. He had twigs and leaves in his previously so immaculately groomed hair and Harry was looking rather well-shagged, grinning like a simpleton. And being in underpants damp and clinging to his crotch also wasn't the nicest feeling in the world. Thank goodness for magic that it had only lasted half a minute.

“It is true, trust me,” Harry said, squeezing Draco's hand with his. Their fingers were intertwined and Draco leaned onto Harry's chest like he belonged there, and he did. “I love you.”

He had never thought it would feel this good to belong to someone, to love and be loved back. It was truly amazing. Not like anything Draco had ever experienced in his life. He still had a hard time taking it all in. 

“How did you leave them?” Draco asked, cuddling to Harry's side as the day began to roll into evening, curious of what had happened after his hasty, weepy departure. They were laying snugly under the hedges which they'd scarred for life with their carryings on. He must have left a lasting impression, his reputation was mere tatters by now. Yet, he could always blame it on the hormones, blame it all to hormones. 

There was that flutter again and Draco smiled, even when it did feel so creepy still.

Harry scoffed. “They were bickering amongst each other, last I saw. I'm sorry Draco, I never should have insisted.”

Draco waved his hand, a liege wiping away a serfs apology. “It's no matter now, it got you to admit you love me, didn't it? And the looks on their faces...” He gave Harry a dazzling smile and then snerked. He was trying to not be his old self.

Harry blushed. “I would have said it anyway, soon, I just...”

“Grew so angry with the Weasleys that you lost your temper?” Draco chuckled, only Harry would do that. He did not mind, as it gave him the words he'd been aching to hear for a very long time. He had taken his time in admitting it to himself, sure, but he had it now. Harry Potter's love and his baby. His PLAN was almost complete.

They finally went inside after at least trying to make each other appear somewhat presentable and not like they had had at it in the shrubbery. Harry went to face his friends as Draco lingered in the kitchen.

After cat-calls and jeers had issued from the sitting room in greeting of Harry's reappearance, Mrs. Weasley cornered Draco in the kitchen and gave him the biggest of hugs, surprising the nervous pregnant blonde. Draco realized that he was, more than anything, touched. He knew that she was the closest thing Harry had ever had of a mother. To his own surprise, he hugged her back even if a little gingerly. Not once in all the times he and Harry had attended Mrs. Weasley's famous and tasty Sunday Dinners had she hugged him, even when Draco had noticed that she had thawed in her feelings towards him, having been sceptical at first, yet never harshly questioning his and Harry's relationship. Which was saying a lot seeing as Harry had briefly dated her daughter. Who was, incidentally, now married and on the family way herself, not that Draco cared. Maybe he did, because it was him, not her, who was having Harry's baby. 

The hug seemed to last forever in Draco's opinion. He couldn't decide if he was more peeved or comforted by it, but in the wake of his emotional upheaval, he decided to go for comfort.

Once she had relinquished her hold on him, Molly Weasley held Draco at arms length and let her observant eye take in his appearance. The blonde wizard felt fidgety under her scrutiny. The chatter or the others, intermingled with the occasional raised voice, flitted into the kitchen from the sitting room. 

“I hope you are taking good care of yourself, young man,” Molly finally said, breaking the silence. She was smiling at Draco, who suddenly was at a loss for words, a first for him. 

Draco swallowed and tried to tune out the other noises, he knew that some of the Weasleys were trying to make Harry leave him, because he had been a Death Eater, no matter that he'd helped them, helped Harry, during the War. For all their equality, even the side of Light, the Winners of the Wizarding War, could be as much of bigots as Voldemort's followers. Draco did know that much of the dislike towards him stemmed from his behaviour at school, as he had actually been quite a ruddy Death Eater, a real disappointment.

“I am,” he could finally reply to Molly.

She patted his arms and let go. “Don't make Harry cry, promise me that. That boy is like a son to me and I would hate to see him suffer.” Her eyes held his firmly, there was no escape from them.

“I have already made him cry,” Draco admitted, letting the words slip in his distraction. His cool grey eyes were wide as he looked at Molly Weasley in shock. He had not meant for those words to get out. Never. Seemed he was letting his soul hang in his sleeve in the wake of their mutual admissions of love. He suddenly wondered how Harry was doing, being accosted by the other Weasley's. 

And she simply hugged him again. “I know. Harry told me,” she said softly, so soft only Draco could hear, her hot breath tickling his ear. He could hear her sorrow. Her hug was so comforting, like his mother's. “I'm hoping for the best this time around.”

Then it clicked. She knew. 

Draco had feared that she might. But of course he should have guessed. She was what Harry had as a mother. So he had probably told Molly Weasley everything. He was thinking about it again himself, unable to stop the thoughts from forming in his mind. Not sure he wanted to. He needed to think them otherwise they would consume him. For months he had run away from them, trying to appease his guilty conscience, mask away his private sorrow with this new baby, this frightening new life blossoming inside of him now, fluttering.

He drew in a ragged breath, steadying himself. “I couldn't bear it if... and it would break Harry. I know it would.” He was far too vulnerable now, his Malfoy façade cracking, but he decided to let it crack and appear more like other people. What was there left to lose?

“I know, my dear, I know,” Molly merely said, her voice sad. 

Draco joined Harry later in the sitting room, in much better spirits. He now thought that Molly Weasley was actually one quite fine witch. He joined Harry on the other-wise empty, battered couch and drew him close to himself and faced the others with a determined glint in his eyes. “Now,vhe said, letting his voice be calm and cool and collected, “how long will you continue upsetting the father of my child?”. Not that Harry looked upset, more angry and vexed than anything.

“But you're a Malfoy!” Fred Weasley countered. He was standing besides his twin in the opposite side of the room.

“Yes. And?” Draco shot back. “Do any of you dimwits realize that it is Harry's baby too? And that you mind not want to upset me as I'm a delicate condition?!” He patted his only slight bump for emphasis, letting his eyes glare over the gathered Weasley's and their respective spouses... and Sirius and Remus, who were by now staying out of his and Harry's hair. In fact, Sirius Black looked to be amused by it all, finally.

Hermione came to back him up, of all people. “Draco's right,” she said, shaking her fingers at the others, “ you should just shut about it all, like I've been trying to tell you to do all along!”

“Yeah!”

How and why Ron Weasley, Draco's arch-nemesis, came to back his wife up, Draco never knew. It was a day of wonders.

* * *

Narcissa moving back in into Malfoy Manor during Draco's fifth month did not sit entirely well with Harry, but Draco was insistent upon the matter. He wanted his mother there, end of story. Also, his mother had all right to be there, since she was a Malfoy. 

In time, Harry actually developed a rather cordial relationship with Narcissa, of all things. Which also made Draco's mother corner him and ask him why had not married Potter yet and if he had told him he loved him. Draco had told her that they had told each other of their love but he wasn't sure of it, to which his mother had merely said “Draco, my son, you altered your very being with magic simply to bear his child, if that isn't a sign of true love, then what is?”

Draco refused stoutly to tell her she was right. His altering his body had been for the PLAN, not some affectionate feelings he might or might not harbour for Harry.

But at night, when Harry was sleeping, his hand laying on Draco's growing belly as they spooned, Draco knew his mother was right. Yet he was not sure how Harry felt about it all. He was afraid to ask. They had had such animosity between the two of them, when they been at Hogwarts, could that all have gone away? Draco remembered having writhed on the floor of that bathroom, seemed like forever ago now, cut and bloody... by a spell Harry had cast on him. He knew that Harry had been sorry, but there was still a part of him which was unsure. And so he stayed silent on the matter. To keep himself safe.

He had heard Harry shout out his love but still... the doubt lingered within him.

The terrifying intimacy of Harry holding onto Draco's hand as he slept was deafening, overwhelming. It made Draco hope, to ache for a future with the irritatingly self-sacrifizing man, even when he knew that Harry would most likely end up breaking his heart. Draco had watched him from the shadows enough to know that it could very well happen. Not since the Gryffindor had left his Hogwarts-sweetheart Ginny Weasley, had Potter had a lasting relationship. And even if what they were now having was one, Draco simply could not let himself believe. It was all too fantastic. 

Draco hardly slept that night, kept awake by his distracted thoughts. Harry admonished him over looking tired in the morning, as Draco knew full well he would. In their own little domestic bliss Draco followed Harry into the kitchen for breakfast, enjoying how Harry held onto his hand, not seeing the action for what it was. The Gryffindor only agreed to leave for work at the Ministry once he'd seen Draco settled in bed. And when he was on his way, Draco did sleep well into the noon. 

He followed what had become his normal routine after he got up in the months since he had started his … maternity leave: he had lunch first, after washing himself. And, as he did every day after he got up properly, he stood, nude, in front of the big mirror on his bedroom, their bedroom, and looked at the bulge of his stomach, trying to determine how much it had grown. He'd hold his hands over the stretched flesh, trying to feel his baby inside as more than a flutter. That morning, he did. Draco had felt it rolling inside, a very peculiar rumble within him, but never had he felt it from the outside. 

Draco sat down onto the floor, his legs folding from under him, holding the not so graceful swell of his stomach. He had felt it. He was seized with the anxiety that Harry should have been there, that Harry would have loved it. Then he scolded himself over such thoughts. He and Harry weren't... he didn't know what Harry thought. For some moments Draco held onto the magical feeling of his child showing signs of it's liveliness to the outside world.

He could not resist the urge to floo-call Harry at the Ministry, even when it would make him queasy.

In the end, Draco put the call through without hesitation. He was brimming with such excitement, knew, deep down, that if he did not tell Harry right away, the Gryffindor would not like it. And Draco wanted to please him. Even when he doubted Potter's love for him. This was family and family overcame such things as parents loving each other, it was all about their love for their baby. 

Throwing in the floo-powder into the grate and putting his head into the fireplace, he shouted, ”Harry Potter's Office, Muggle Liaisons Division, Ministry of Magic. He had to shut his eyes to divert the nausea he was sure would have hit him as his head whirled through the Network's many grates until he was at the Ministry. When he was still, he kept his eyes closed for a moment to steady himself. He then opened them to look into Harry's office.

“Harry?” he asked, voice brimming with excitement. 

Draco had to wait for a little while before brisk steps walked over to the small fire-place and Harry knelt before him. His eyes were full of concern and Draco could just see the beginnings of a panic-attack taking hold, was sure that Harry would throw his verbal panic right at him.

“Draco, what's---”

He cut Harry off before he could continue. “Nothings wrong, I swear,” Draco said surprisingly levelly, yet grinning so broad it almost hurt. “I felt the baby kick!”

Harry's face just lit up at that and he leaned closer, brushing his lips against Draco's, of course at the same time banging his head on the fire-place but Harry seemed not to care. “You mean, not only that flutter inside?” Harry asked once he was a little farther away from Draco. His eyes were so lit up it almost pained Draco. And he wavered. But then he thought that the excitement had to be over the baby, not Draco himself. 

“He kicked against my hand,” Draco replied, smiling at the fresh memory. “Just thought you'd like to know.”

“Bloody Hell, of course,” Harry enthused. He was looking around him, thinking. “Hmm, I think I could come home early today.”

Draco frowned. “You sure, I didn't mean that you had to, just telling how it is.”

Harry looked at Draco like he was talking gibberish. “You think that you can tell me something like that and then be able to focus on work?”

The blonde wizard shook his head and then sneezed as he got ash into his throat. “Guess not, Gryffindor stubbornness, eh?”

“Right, I'm coming home as soon as I can,” Harry decided. “Want anything from Diagon Alley?”

“Nothing in particular,” Draco said, warmed by the thought that Harry would get him something over this, even when the baby kicking had nothing to do with his person. Then he thought that he was becoming such a girl. “Surprise me.”

“Will do,” Harry replied and began to get up from where he'd been kneeling on the stone-floor. “And you get up now, it's not good for you to be squatting by the grate the way you are.”

“Yes dear.”

* * *

The rest of the day was very pleasant. Harry doted on Draco. He had his hands over the blonde's bump most of the time, waiting to feel a kick, a butterfly tremor, anything. When he did feel, his smile made Draco's heart melt. 

Later, after eating well and resting and cuddling, Harry made such sweet slow love to Draco that he felt he would burst with happiness. If actions spoke stronger than words, he did believe that Harry truly loved him, adored him with as deep and ache as Draco did him. Yet, when Draco lay still awake after Harry'd fallen asleep, the active baby rolling inside of him and keeping him wake, he felt it again. That terrible intimacy of Harry's hands, that nagging horrid doubt in his gut.

The feeling that it was too good to be true, that it was all a sham.  
* * *

Draco sneaked quietly into Harry's office, sniggering a little. It had been all too easy. Of course, he pretended to having gone unnoticed, it was most of the fun. He was a Malfoy so it had been all too easy. Indifference and snottiness had also been a great way to evade anyone patting his bump or doing some of the insane things that pregnant people had to suffer through, Draco really did not appreciate those. Not one bit. So, he had strode, not waddled, through the long corridors with all the grace of a pregnant Draco Malfoy, just to give Harry a surprise. It was mostly for himself, though. He had a hankering for a good long fuck with Harry. 

When at Harry's office at last, Draco sashayed in as much as he was able, put his bag on the table and sat down in Harry's chair, having pushed it quite a ways away from the desk to allow for his bump. The baby did a back flip and he grimaced. 

As he waited for Harry, he let his eyes rest, just for a moment, and next thing he knew, Harry was shaking him awake. 

“What are you doing here?” the man asked, oblivious as ever. Draco would have thought it obvious. 

“Came to see you for a little smooching.”

Harry leaned closer, obliging, letting their lips meet in a long kiss. “Anything else?” he inquired when they came apart. 

Draco looked at Harry with all the hunger of a predator. “Well, I thought you could let me fuck you, hope you don't have too much paperwork...”

Harry's green eyes, watching him, grew huge and Draco could feel his hard on against his leg. Perfect. He moved his leg just so, making Harry gasp. 

“No... paperwork at all, but... can you manage?” Harry finally stuttered, much of his blood flowing away from his head. Draco was breathing a little heavier himself, too.

“I'm sure we'll find a way, after all, are you not one of the brightest young minds to work at the Ministry of Magic, or was the Daily Prophet wrong?” Draco practically purred at him.

“If you continue to talk like that, you won't even get to have your fuck...” Harry gasped as Draco's leg had continued to move and move.

“Where's your Gryffindor stamina?” Draco countered, his words a breathy mumble. “You sure have some...”

Draco took Harry over the table, the room warded for any noise and intruders. The blonde revelled in the tightness of Harry's bottom, making his rhythm slow, savouring the moment, knowing this might be one of the very last times, wanting to make it count. Harry did not sound at all disappointed by the way Draco thrust into him, one long languid stroke after another, claiming and reclaiming his body in a sweet rhythm. 

“Come for me, Harry...” Draco soon whispered, when Harry's whimpers were reaching a sweet crescendo, his body shuddering all around Draco. Draco was close, too, aching to just shoot his load into Harry, but wanting his lover to come first. He loved the way harry clenched around him then, the tight grip, which usually milked him dry. 

Harry came, shouting Draco's name, defiling an errant paper still on his table. Draco soon followed, gasping, but not even murmuring Harry's, his lover's name, as Harry had done. He wanted to, but dared not. It would have showed he cared too much. He had done so, in the past, but he was now reluctant to even let a syllable of Harry-bleeding-Potter's name slip his lips. 

Afterwards, Harry held him, hands around Draco's stomach, head laid on the top, listening to their baby rumble inside. It nigh made Draco want to weep, too much once more. How could Harry be so affectionate and still not say it out loud. Say that which Draco ached to hear, even when he had heard Harry yell it. But that had been once. At least he did love their baby, which made it even harder for Draco, who wanted nothing more than to not fail this time. He did know that he himself would not come out of another failure unscathed, either. Even when he was this far along, and all was proceeding well, Harry's magic aiding his, keeping their baby alive, Draco still could not squish all the doubts arising in himself.

It would be too cruel. Draco had not really considered it as an option and very likely possible outcome of a male pregnancy. He had been so intent that he could do it that he had not really taken the time to consider the implications to himself personally. 

He would never admit it to Harry, but he was so so scared. And wanted, ached for Harry to love him, for Harry to make it all better. He knew Harry could not do so, not with everything, there was no changing the past, but the idea brought Draco some comfort. 

* * *

Sometime during his sixth month Draco grew so bored that there was nothing that would interest him. All he wanted was to get out of the Manor. And do something shocking while he was at it. In an instant, a glorious moment of pure genius, he came up with a plan. It was almost as good as his PLAN, it was much more fun for sure. He took a long time in rummaging through his closet but he did find what he had been looking for. A little help from his vanity table and assorted make-up and he was ready to go.

Draco giggled as he strode through Diagon Alley. Nobody recognized him, at least that was what he was telling himself. He was the image of a pregnant witch, complete with wig and a really nice pregnancy robe. 

It was all fun and games until he ran into someone he actually knew, which just happened to be a heavily pregnant Hermione Granger, of all people. 

“Hello... Draco,” Hermione greeted him at Flourish and Blotts, her mouth twitching, her voice on the edge of laughter. She looked ready to double over, guffawing. Draco was so glad that she didn't.

“Hermione,” Draco replied shortly, feeling... he knew not what, exactly.

“What a nice... maternity robe,” Hermione swept her hand towards his pregnant figure, the swoop of it taking in Draco's attire. 

Draco was dressed in a green maternity robe, modest but made from the best fabric. He had put on a bra and had stuffed it to make himself a bosom. Hermione's eyes were staring at his fake bosom intently. He had not wanted to go too overboard but with the robe he'd had to have the breasts, otherwise it would have sagged rather unseemly on the top area. 

“Not real, if that is what you are thinking,” Draco cut her short, informing her.

Their low volume conversation was conducted between the shelves, so Draco could be a bit more open. He thought of the scandal if he was caught dressed... well, there would be little scandal as tid-bits of his crossdressing tendencies had already leaked out into the press, as much Malfoy money as had gone into suppressing the stories.

By now the press were more agog over his pregnancy, and in taking bet on who was the father, most bets were on Harry.

“Um, why on earht are you dressed like that in the first place?” Hermione asked, continuing to look at Draco like he had finally lost his mind. “And I know they are not real, I have read some books, you know...”

Draco grinned at her. “I just felt like prettying myself up. I was so bored.”

Hermione cocked her head as she looked at Draco. “You were bored and decided to dress in a maternity complete with a fake bosom and wig and then come to Diagon alley?”

Draco shrugged, the pregnancy was making him do all sorts of strange things. He did not think that dressing up in witches clothes was that strange, at least not with his history of cross-dressing, albeit that was completely different from this. Worlds away. He could not explain it properly and so did not even try to do so. 

“Well, given your... taste in some things, I should say that this is not surprising” Hermione said.

Draco frowned. He had not known that she knew. “You knew, wait, do not tell me, it had to have been Harry,” Draco said a little wearily, a hand over his eyes. The man couldn't keep a secret, could he? “I am right, are I not?”

Hermione had the decency to blush and she averted Draco's eyes, not meeting his inquiring gaze. In that moment, Draco decided to let bygones be bygones.

* * *

When Harry came home that day he was met with a very odd sight as he made his way into the sitting room. For Draco was sitting there, hopped up on... something, with Hermione Granger of all people. Harry was so stunned he could not speak for a moment, he only stood there in the doorway, stunned and silent. As he stared, he grew conscious of Draco's attire. Draco was wearing a... well, it greatly resembled the maternity dresses Harry had often seen women wear when they were pregnant. He did not even want to know where Draco had gotten it. Or the wig. The wig actually made him more confused. If anything could make him more confused.

He doubted little could.

“Harry!” Draco yelled at him when he saw Harry standing there, having been in deep gesticulating conversation with Hermione. Dracos' smile was dazzling and make Harry feel just a little bit faint. He could not believe that he had been this lucky. Draco looked to be in the bloom of health and their child would be born in mere months. Harry felt like crying.

“Why are you wearing a wig? And that dress?” He had to ask, just to focus on something so he would not burst into tears right then and there.

“Because I was bored and went to Diagon Alley undercover,” was Draco's simple reply. Harry merely stared at him.

“You have been watching too many old films, you know...” Harry said. 

“I'm no Daphne,” Draco replied, “if that's what you're implying.”

“No, cos you're perfect.”

Hermione was looking between the two of them like they had both grown extra heads each.

The rest of the evening was spent amicably. Even Hermione had fun even when she looked ready to burst. She told them in a horrified whisper that she was having twins, a Weasley trademark. She just hoped they would not turn exactly like Fred and George. 

* * *

When his stomach grew huge, Draco began to think over the sanity of his PLAN. Sure, it had gotten him together with Harry, who was now living at the Manor with him, but only after tragedy. So it had not all been sun and rainbows. Neither of them had so far admitted to their feelings, to each other at least. Every time Harry had tried, Draco had diverted his attention to something else. And he himself dared not say it. Because of Malfoy honour, because he was afraid of the love he had for Harry.

He was growing anxious the closer the birth came. 

The baby was kicking against his innards again, and Dracp lay a hand against his swollen flesh in an attempt to calm it. No such luck. The baby was a Gryffindor, he just knew it. Draco wanted nothing more at this point, even when the thought of giving birth made him break into a cold sweat, than hold the baby in his arms. He was tired of feeling all the aches and pains in all parts of his body, being off-balance, tiring easily. Not that he denied the fact that having the baby outside his body would lessen the tiredness. It mostly meant that he would not have to carry the baby around inside his body any more. Instead, he would get to carry the baby in his arms. And make Harry and whoever would like to do so, to do it.

Draco was so tired that he would have rather slept a whole week once the baby was born, even right now, but the baby's movements and his own uncomfortableness kept him wake during the night. No amount of back and foot rubs from Harry made it quite allright. 

Suddenly, a pain made him gasp. It was like all the muscles of his midriff constricted and then released the tension. It only lasted a moment but had Draco freaking out in no time at all.

Realizing that he was in labour on the very moment of the day when everyone of the household at the Manor apart from the house-elf were away was just the brightest thought Draco had all day. He immediately screeched for the house elf to come, and it did so with a pop. 

“Inform Master Potter and Mistress Narcissa that the baby is most likely coming today,” he informed the creature, trying to make himself remain calm. He was dreading for the next contraction. “Also, send for Mrs. Parr and tell her to come here. And call my Father.”

The house elf went to summon the people who needed to be there, leaving Draco to his own devices, which meant sitting in a chair with a book in his hands which he hadn't really been reading, some knitting on the table beside the chair. He was not going to finish that pair of booties, Draco surmised, looking at the Slytherin Green yarn. 

Then another contraction made him gasp and he cared for little else.

* *

It was awful. It hurt more than the Cruciatus. But Draco bore it. He was a Malfoy. Malfoy's weathered anything. No pain was too much. When asked later, he always denied having screamed, much. He had been vocalizing to focus the pain. He was also grateful that magic aided the birth, because there was... nowhere for the baby to come out. So it was magicked out.

Once the snuffling, bloodied and pink little baby was deposited in his arms, Draco fell in love instantly. He forgave his son every kick. Every single inconvenience. He held the wriggling infant gently, fearing he might crush his baby boy. The warmth he felt for this little baby, his baby, was almost frightening. Yet he would not give it up for the world.

“What a lovely baby boy,” Mrs. Parr told him as she was wiping her hands with a towel. She was standing by his bedside, beaming down at Draco and the baby. “Congratulations, Mr.Malfoy.”

“Thank you,” Draco said distractedly, entirely engrossed in the small infant in his arms. 

Soon, Harry joined his side on the bed, gently wrapping his arms around the both of them. Harry was smiling, his green eyes lit up. It tore at Draco's heart. There was such love in those green eyes that he just had to believe Harry cared. 

“I love you, Draco” Harry whispered reverently, gently stroking the downy dark hair on top of the baby's head. His voice shook by the force of his emotion. The words made Draco forget all lingering pain and just be grateful. He had gotten what he had always wanted and there was only one thing to say which would make everything utterly perfect.

“I love you too,” Draco admitted, and all was well.


End file.
